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FOOL'S ERRAND

ONE OF THE FOOLS.

VARR. SERV. Thou art not altogether a fool.
FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery
As I have, so much wit thou lackest.

Tinton o/ Athens.

NEW YORK:

FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT.
1880.

FRANKLIN PRESS!

ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY,
BOSTON.

I frso

N\ ft I K/

TO THE
ANCIENT AND HONORABLE FAMILY OF

jfools

THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY AND LOVINGLY

DEDICATED

BY ONE OF THEIR NUMBER.

\ v* oar

\^J

LETTER TO THE PUBLISHEKS.

GENTLEMEN, — Your demand that I should write a " Preface "
to the book you have printed seems to me utterly preposterous.
It is like a man introducing himself, — always an awkward,
and generally a useless piece of business. What is the use of
the "prologue to the epic coming on," anyhow, unless it be a
sort of advertisement? and in that case you ought to write it.
Whoever does that should be

" Wise enough to play the fool;
And to do that well craves a sort of wit."

That is not the kind of Fool I am. All such work I delegate
to you, and hereby authorize and empower you to say what you
please of what I have written, only begging you keep in mind
one clear distinction. There are two kinds of Fools. The real
Fool is the most sincere of mortals: the Court Fool and his
kind — the trifling, jesting buffoon — but simulate the family
virtue, and steal the family name, for sordid purposes.

The life of the Fool proper is full of the poetry of faith.
He may run after a will-o'-the-wisp, while the Wise deride ;
but to him it is a veritable star of hope. He differs from
his fellow-mortals chiefly in this, that he sees or believes
what they do not, and consequently undertakes what they
never attempt. If he succeed in his endeavor, the world
stops laughing, and calls him a Genius : if he fail, it laughs
the more, and derides his undertaking as A FOOL'S ERRAND.

So the same individual is often both fool and genius, — a
fool all his life and a genius after his death, or a fool to one
century and a genius to the next, or a fool at home and a
prodigy abroad. Watt was a fool while he watched the tea
kettle, but a genius when he had caught the imp that tilted

LETTER TO THE PUBLISHERS.

the lid. The gentle Genoese who wrested half the world
from darkness was a fool to the age which sought for the
Fountain of Youth; yet every succeeding one but multiplies
his praises. These are but types. The poet has incorporated
the recognized principle in the lines, —

" Great wits to madness, sure, are near allied,
And thin partitions do their walls, divide."

It is, however, only in the element of simple, undoubting
faith, that the kinship of genius and folly consists. One may
be an unquestioned Fool without any chance of being taken
for a Seer. This is, indeed, the case with most of the tribe.
It is success alone that transforms the credulity of folly into
acknowledged prophetic prevision.

Noah was one of the earliest of the Fools thus vindicated.
The Wise Men of his day sat around on the dry-goods boxes,
and whittled and whistled, and quizzed the queer craft on
which he kept his sons and sons-in-law at work, till the keel
was as old as the frigate " Constitution " before he was ready
to lay her upper decks. If the rain had not come at last,
they would never have got over laughing at his folly. The
Deluge saved his reputation, and made his Ark a success.
But it is not often that a Fool has a heavenly voice to guide
him, or a flood to help him out.

This little tale is the narrative of one of Folly's failu^s.
The hero can lay no claim to greatness. A believing Noah
there is in it, a well-built ark, and an indubitable flood.
But the waters prevailed, and the Fool went down, and
many of the family with him. The Wise Men looked on
and laughed.

The one merit which the story claims is that of honest,
uncompromising truthfulness of portraiture. Its pictures are
from life. And even in this which he boasts as a virtue may
be found, perhaps, the greatest folly yet committed by

ONE OF THE FOOLS.

SEPTEMBER, 1879.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER. PAGB.

I. THE GENESIS OF FOLLY 7

II. LE PREMIER ACCES . ... . .... 10

III. SORROW COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE . . . .13

IV. FROM BAD TO WORSE 17

V. THE ORACLE is CONSULTED ...... 21

VI. ALL LOST BUT HONOR 23

VII. AN OLD "UNIONER" . . 26

VIII. "THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES" ... 33

IX. THE NEW KINGDOM 37

X. POOR TRAY 42

XL A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET 48

XII. COMPELLED TO VOLUNTEER 54

XIII. A TWO-HANDED GAME . . . . . . .57

XIV. MURDER MOST FOUL . » .,• . . . . . . (15

XV. "WHO is MY NEIGHBOR?" .... . . .70

XVI. THE EDGE OF HOSPITALITY DULLED ... c 82

XVII. THE SECOND MILE POST . . . . . . . <S5

XVIII. CONGRATULATION AND CONDOLENCE .... 90

XIX. CITIZENS IN EMBRYO . ... . . .98

XX. Our OF DUE SEASON . . . . . . . 112

XXI. How THE WISE MEN BUILDED 119

XXII. COCK-CROW -.'.- . . . . . . . .129

XXIII. THE DIE is CAST 135

XXIV. " WISDOM CRIETH IN THE STREETS " . . . .142

6 CONTENTS.

CHAPTEB. PAGE

XXV. A GRUMBLER'S FORECAST . . . , . .150

XXVI. BALAK AND BALAAM ....,,. 154

XXVII. A NEW INSTITUTION 162

XXVIII. A BUNDLE OF DRY STICKS 172

XXIX. FOOTING UP THE LEDGER 17(5

XXX. A THRICE-TOLD TALE ...... 184

XXXI. THE FOLLY or WISDOM 201

XXXII. " OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART " . 208

XXXIII. " LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG " . . . . .216

XXXIV. THE HARVEST OF WISDOM 224=

XXXV. AN AWAKENING . . 232

XXXVI. A RACE AGAINST TIME * . . . . .246

XXXVII. THE " KEB " VIEW OF IT . ... . . .256

XXXVIII. " AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA " . . 270

XXXIX. " LIGHT SHINETH IN DARKNESS " . . . .285

XL. PRO BONO PUBLICO . . . , . , . . .292

XLI. " PEACE IN WARSAW " . ; .. , . . . 299

XLII. A FRIENDLY MEDIATION . ..'.:« .308

XLIII. UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER . . . . .314

XLIV. PRIDE OVERMATCHING PRIDE 326

XLV. WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER . -• • . 335

XLVI. HOME AT LAST . . . . . * -. . 348

XLVII. MONUMENTUM . . . ' r ." ', .360

••v

A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER I.

THE GENESIS OF FOLLY.

THE Fool's patronymic was Servosse; his Christian name,
Comfort. His father was descended from one of those Gallic
families who abandoned the luxuries of la belle France for an
Arcadia which in these later days has become synonymous
with bleakness, if not sterility. It is supposable that his an
cestors, before they adventured on the delights of Canadian
winters in exchange for the coast of Normandy or the plains
of Bordeaux, may have belonged to some noble family, who
drew their blood, clear and blue, from the veins of a Martelian
progenitor.

It is, perhaps, but fair to presume that the exchange of skies
was made or/ly for the glory of our gallant and good King
Louis, and the advancement of the holy Catholic faith in the
New World, rather than for the peace and quiet of the imme
diate vicinage in which the ancestor dwelt. However this may
be, a later ancestor was among those, who, with that mixture of
courage and suavity which enabled the voyageurs of that day
so successfully to secure and hold the good will of the unso
phisticated red-skin, pushed westward along the Great Lakes
until they came to the Straits, where so many advantages of a
trading-post were combined, that Detroit was there located and
christened.

The mutations of government, the lapse of time, and the
anglicization of their surroundings had robbed the descendants

8 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

of the original Servosse of every trace of their Gallic ancestry
except the name ; and it is only mentioned here for the benefit
of some curious student of mental phenomena with credence
in hereditary traits, who may believe that an ancestor who
could voluntarily abandon the champagnes, of Burgundy for
the Heights of Abraham, by whatever enticing name the same
might be called, was quite capable of transmitting to his
descendants such an acces de lafolie as was manifested by our
particular Fool.

Certainly, no such defect can be attributed to his maternal
line : they knew on which side their bread was buttered. Of
the truest of Puritan stock, the mother's family had found a
lodgment on a little hillside farm carved out of the Hop-
Brook Grant in Berkshire, which seemed almost as precarious
in its rocky ruggedness and inaccessibility as the barn-swallow's
nest, clinging in some mysterious way to the steep slope under
the eaves of the old hip-roofed barn against which it was
built. Yet, like the nest, the little hillside home had sufficed
for the raising of many a sturdy brood, who had flown away
to the constantly receding West almost before they had grown
to full-fledged man- and womanhood. Brave-hearted, strong-
limbed, and clear-headed, or, as they would now be called, level
headed, were these children of the Berkshire hills. There was
no trace of mental unsoundness about any of them. Especially
free from such imputation was Eliza Hall, the golden-haired,
brown-eyed, youngest of nine, who, with her saucily upturning
nose, a few freckles on her round cheeks, which made their
peach-bloom all the more noticeable, — despite the entreaties
of friends, the prayers of lovers, and the protest of parents, —
would away to the West in her eighteenth year to become a
Yankee schoolma'am in Michigan.

That the young lumberman, Michael Servosse, — rich in the
limitless possibilities of a future cast in the way which had
been marked out by nature as the path of advancing empire,
a brave heart and unquenchable energy, to whom thousands
of acres of unrivaled pine-lands yielded tribute, and whose
fleet of snug schooners was every year growing larger, — that

THE GENESIS OF FOLLY. 9

he should capture and mate with the fair bird from the New-
England home-nest was as fitting as the most enthusiastic
advocate of natural selection could desire. They were the
fairest types of remote stocks of kindred races, invigorated by
the fresh life of a new continent.

The first fruit of such a union was the Fool, born on the first
day of the month of flowers, in the year of grace one thou
sand eight hundred and thirty -four, on the very spot where
the Iroquois met in council with the great chief Pontiac when
the cunning plan was devised to gain entrance to the fort by
playing a game of lacrosse on the parade-ground for the
amusement of the garrison. The wife of a year, as the
perils of maternity drew nigh in the absence of her husband,
who was up the lake attending to his spring shipments,
began to sigh for her far-away mountain home, and so named
the new life, which brought consolation to her loneliness,
Comfort.

During his babyhood, boyhood, and youth, our hero mani
fested none of those characteristics from which he afterwards
received the name by which he is known in these pages. He
was reared with care. Though his father died while he was
yet young, he left sufficient estate to enable the mother to give
to her children every advantage of education, and divide a
small surplus between them as each arrived at man's estate.
The young Servosse, therefore, ate, drank, and slept, studied,
played, and quarreled, like other boys. Like others who
enter college, and have constitutions sufficiently robust to avoid
dyspepsia arising from sedentary habits and the frying-pan,
he left it at the end of four years, with a diploma properly
signed and sealed, as well as very prettily printed on mock
parchment, which was quite as good as veritable sheepskin for
such a purpose. He studied law, as so many sensible men
have done before his day, and with his first mustache was
admitted under all the legal forms to sign himself " Attorney
and Counselor at Law," and allowed to practice his art upon
such clients as he could decoy into any of the courts of the
Commonwealth of Michigan. Thereupon, putting in force the

10 A FOOUS ERRAND.

" Circumspice " which appeared upon the seal attached to his
license, he cast about for a place in which to set snares for the
unwary, and pitched upon the town of Peru; hung out his
shingle ; obtained a fair business ; married the pretty Mettn
Ward ; and, in the summer of his twenty-seventh year, mani
fested the first symptoms of that mental weakness which led
him to perform the task of unwisdom hereinafter narrated.

CHAPTER II.

LE PREMIER ACCES.

IT was the 23d of July in his twenty-seventh year. He had
been for several days in a very depressed state of mind, ner
vous and irritable, beset by gloomy forebodings, wakeful, and,
when he did sleep, moaning as if in anguish of mind, talking
in his sleep, or waking suddenly and crying out, as if in danger
or distress. There was nothing in his social or business rela
tions to justify any such state of mind. He was very warmly
regarded by the little community in which he was settled, — a
leader in its social life, an active member of the church in
which he had been reared, and superintendent of its sabbath
school. He had a good home, undistinguished by mortgage or
incumbrance of any sort; a wife, whose energy and activity
kept this home in the neatest possible condition, almost as it
seemed without exertion, and certainly without the tyranny of
servants; an office in the very center of the town, where it
could not escape the search of the most unwilling or unobser
vant seeker ; and a practice which yielded him more than he
had any call to spend. All this should have made him the
most contented and happy of men.

Yet, in spite of all these comforting surroundings, he had for
a considerable time neglected his business to a marked degree,
and seemed to have little interest in those things which ought

LE PREMIER ACCES. 11

most nearly to have concerned him. For the last few days he
seemed to have had no heart or interest in any thing save the
results of a battle, which was said to have been fought half
a thousand miles away, in which neither he nor any one of his
clients had an interest which could have been measured by the
American unit of value or any fraction thereof. Yet this
young attorney was refusing to eat or drink, because he did not
know the results of said battle, or perhaps because he feared
that it might not turn out to his notion.

Metta, his young wife, was surprised and alarmed. Never
before had there been any thing like trouble in the breast of
her spouse, that he did not lighten his heart of at least half its
load by at once revealing to her the cause of his annoyance.
The difficulties of each puzzling case were talked over with
her ; and not unf requently her pure unbiased heart had pointed
out to him equities which his grosser nature had failed to per
ceive. Had he been cast in an action, he was sure to come
home at night, perhaps dragging and weary with the story
of his discomfiture, to receive consolation and encouragement
from her lips; but this new trouble he had studiously con
cealed from her. At least he had refrained from all conversa
tion in regard to it, and revealed its existence only by the
involuntary symptoms which we have set forth. But who could
conceal such symptoms from the eye of love ? She had seen
them, and wept and trembled at the evil that portended. She
•was no skilled student of mental phenomena ; but, if she had
been, she would have known that all these indications — in
somnia, causeless apprehension, anxiety in regard to matters of
no personal moment to him, moodiness, and studious conceal
ment of the cause of his disquietude — were most infallible
indicators of mental disorder. Yet, although she did not
know this as a scientific fact, her heart had Diagnosed the
symptoms ; and the prescience of love had taught her with
unerring accuracy to apprehend the evil which impended.
With the self-forgetfulneas of womanly devotion, she had con
cealed her sorrow from the purblind eyes of the dull mole
whose heart was occupied only with the morbid fancies which

12 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

were eating their relentless way into his soul. She wept in
secret over what she foresaw, and pressed her hands with tear
ful beseeching to her troubled heart, while her white lips
uttered the prayer, which she felt could not be answered, " I
pray Thee, let this cup pass from me ! "

Yet she met him, through whom she knew this affliction
must come, ever with smiles and gladness. At morn she kissed
him farewell, as he stood on the vine-covered porch of their
little cottage, when he started for his office, while the balmy
breath of the summer morning blew over them, and the bees
hummed from flower to flower, sipping the honeyed dew from
the throats of the unclosed morning-glories. At noon, when
he came for the mid-day meal, the door flew open before his
hand had touched the knob, and she stood before him in the
little hall, draped in the neat, cool muslin which became her so
well, a smile upon her lips, and inextinguishable lovelight in
her eyes. And when he would sit in moody silence after their
pleasant tea, while the evening shadows fell around, — brood
ing, ever brooding, over the evil which he would persist in
making his own, — she would steal into his lap, and her soft
arms would clasp his neck, while her lips wouM not rest from
prattle or song until bribed into silence by kisses or laughter.
Never had his home been so sweet. Never could home be
sweeter. Yet all this seemed only to increase his melancholy,
and make him even more moody and disconsolate.

On the previous day he had come home before the tea-table
had been set, — an hour before his usual time ; but somehow she
had expected that he would do so. She had peeped through
the blinds of her. little chamber, and seen him coming ; so that,
as he climbed wearily up the steps, he found her standing on
the lower stair in the hall, her lips wreathed in smiles, and her
head crowned with roses, as she waited to spring into his arms.

" O Metta!" he said in an agonized voice, as he clasped her
to his breast, and then put her away, and looked into her blush
ing face and into the eyes which were crowding back the tears
she was determined should not flow, — "O Metta, we are
beaten 1 "

SORROW COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE. 13

" In what case ? " she asked, at once pretending to misunder
stand the purport of his words.

He saw the pretty little trick ; but he was too sad, and mel
ancholy had taken too firm a hold upon him, to allow him to
reward it with a smile.

" Alas ! " he sighed, " this can be laughed away no longer.
Blood has been shed. Not a few lives, but a thousand, have
been lost. Our army has fought at a place called Bull Run,
and been terribly defeated."

CHAPTER II I.

SORROW COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE.

THERE were no more smiles in the cozy home after that
announcement. He had brought with him a newspaper, whose
horrible details absorbed his attention, and from which he read
aloud to her, as with noiseless step and white lips and ashen
cheeks she went about preparing the evening meal, of which
they had partaken together for the last time alone. Another
presence — grim and terrible — sat at the board with them that
night, and imbittered all the sweet viands which her pretty
hands had prepared with such loving care. The name of this
presence was War. It sat opposite the wife, and over against
the husband. Its shadow blighted his brain, and paralyzed her
heart. She could not eat; and the Fool noticed dully, when he
could lift his eyes from the paper beside his plate, that there
were great black circles about her eyes, which were not there
when he had first met her in the hall that morning.

After supper he went out, which was another sign of mental
alienation ; since he had never before known a time when he
would willingly leave his pretty home and gentle wife for the
society of men. He stayed late, and she pretended to be asleep
when he came in. She had been weeping in her loneliness ?

14 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

and her heart was so sore that she could not venture to give
him the good-night kiss, which she had never before omitted.
In the morning there was the same heaviness; and the same
Shadow sat with them at the breakfast-table and mocked at the
Fool, as he read the morning's paper, and did not see the tears
that rolled down the wife's cheeks.

He did not come home to dine, but sent word that he was
too busy to leave his office ; and it was late when he came to
supper. His melancholy seemed to have departed ; and he was
strangely, unnaturally cheerful and tender to his young wife.
He came up the steps with a bound, took her lovingly from
the lower stair, where she generally awaited him, and, when he
had kissed her a dozen times or so, bore her in his arms to the
dining-room, where the tea-table was already spread. Through
the whole meal he rattled on of every thing except the fearful
Shadow which sat opposite, and which he pretended not to see.
When the meal was over, he led his wife into the sitting-room ;
and taking a seat by the window, over which clambered a rose-
tree, some blossoms from which were in her hair, he seated her
upon his lap, kissed her again and again, and finally said in
tremulous tones, —

"Metta, the governor has called for more troops."

There was no response, except that the bowed head upon his
breast nestled closer, and there was a sound as of a sob choked
down in the white throat.

"Don't you think, Metta, that I — that is — we — ought
to do something — for the country? "

Then came a little wailing cry.

" Didn't I pick lint for two whole days, and sew bandages,
and roll them ; and [a burst of tears] I'm sure I'm willing to
do it every day — if — if — if it will do any good."

Then the tears flowed in a torrent, and the slender form
shook with successive sobs, as if a great deep had been sud
denly broken up.

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" said the Fool. "Don't you
think / ought to do something? — that I ought to — to —
'go?"

SORROW COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE. 15

" Go ! where ? " came the response in assumed wonder ; for
she would not understand.

" To 'the war, dear," he answered gently.

" What ! " she cried. " You ! you ! my husband ! Oh, it is
not, it can not be so ! Surely there is no need of that. Can
we not do enough — our share — without that? O darling, I
should die ! "

She sobbed as if about to make good her words, and clung
about his neck with kisses and tears mingled in distracted
confusion.

" Oh, if I should lose you! Darling, darling! think of our
pretty home ! your bright future, and — and," she whispered
something in his ear. " Surely some must stay at home ; and
why not you ? "

" Nay, nay, darling," he said, " do not tempt me ! I know it
is hard; but I could not look you in the face, and know that I
had shirked the call. Nay more, my darling! I could not gaze
without a blush into the innocent face of that little child, if
I should fail to take a man's part in the great struggle which
the nation is waging with the wrong! I could not see your
babe, and think that it might some time blush for its father's
cowardice ! "

As if it could make any possible difference to the little one
who was expected, whether its father continued a thrifty and
prosperous attorney, as he had hitherto been, or became a red-
handed slayer of men ! or, indeed, whether the said heir
expectant would not be better pleased, and his interests better
served, by his father taking the former course rather than the
latter !

However, the young wife saw that it was useless to argue
with a mind so evidently distorted in its apprehension of facts,
and lay weeping and sobbing in his arms until he had fired
her fancy with bright pictures of military glory and the
sweets of the return home, when Peace should crown him with
laurels, and spread a feast of all good things for the heroes
who went forth to battle for the right.

So, in a few days, he marched forth clad in the foolish

16 A FOOUS ERRAND.

foppery of war, avoiding his wife's tearful gaze, and taking
pride and credit to himself for so doing.

He was the captain of the " Peru Invincibles," which con
stituted Company B of an infantry regiment, that did an
incredible amount of boasting at the outset, a marvelous
amount of running soon after, and a reasonable amount of
fighting still later in the Civil War, which had then just
begun.

This species of mental alienation was then of such frequent
occurrence that it might well be regarded as epidemic. It
displayed itself chiefly in an irresistible inclination to the
wearing of blue clothing and the carrying of dangerous
weapons, together with a readiness to use them in a very
unpleasant and reckless manner. There were many mild
cases, in which the mania manifested itself in very loud and
reckless talk about what ought to be done. These cases were
not at all dangerous, as they never went beyond that point.
The persons acutely affected received different names in
different localities. In some they were called "Boys in Blue,"
" The Country's Hope," and " Our Brave Soldier-Boys ; " while
in others they were termed "Lincoln's Hirelings," "Abolition
Hordes," and "Yankee Vandals." It may be observed, too,
that the former methods of distinguishing them prevailed
generally in the States lying to the north, and the latter in
those lying to the south, of what used to be called "Mason and
Dixon's line." Both meant the same thing. The difference
was only in the form of expression peculiar to the respective
regions. All these names, when properly translated, signified
Fools.

FROM BAD TO WORSE. 17

CHAPTER IV.

FROM BAD TO WORSE.

FOUR years have elapsed, and our Fool is lying on the green
sward, under the clustering maples, in front of the little cottage
from which he marched away in stoical disregard of his young
wife's tears.

A rollicking witch, whom he calls " Lil," is fighting a sham
battle with the soldier-papa whom she has never seen until a
week before, but whom she now tramples and punches and
pelts with that sublime disregard for the feelings of the as
saulted party which shows the confidence she has in his capaci
ty to " endure hardness like a good soldier." Resting with
her back against the tree-trunk, with a mass of fluffy white
cloth overspreading the light dotted muslin which rises about
her in cool profusion as she sits among the long grass, is Metta,
the brave young wife, whose tears ceased to flow when she
found they were powerless to detain the Fool away from war's
alarms, and were all turned into smiles, and treasured up to
await his return and restoration to his right mind.

Ah! many a thousand times her heart has stood still with
fear for him ; and now, as she playfully watches the struggle
going on, we can see that there is an older look upon her brow
than we had marked there before. The gray eyes have a
soberer light, though brimming over with joy ; the lips, a trick
of closing sharply, as if they would shut back the sob of fear ;
and the hand wanders often to the side, as if it would hush by
its presence the wild beatings of a sad heart. No wonder ; for
the Shadow that sat at their table four years before had break
fasted, dined, and supped with her ever since, until the Fool
came back a week ago. She knows that she has grown old, —
lived many a decade in those four years ; but she has quite for
given the unconscious cause of all her woe, and is busily en-

18 A FOOUS ERRAND.

gaged in preparing garments which shall carry no hint of hia
unfortunate malady. Indeed, it may be said that she has some
pardonable pride in the eclat with which he returns. He has
been promoted and gazetted for gallant conduct, and general
orders and reports have contained his name; while the news-
papers have teemed with glowing accounts of his gallantry.
He is colonel now; has been breveted a brigadier-general,
but despises the honor which conies as a thing of course, in
stead of being won by hard knocks. He is over thirty ; and, as
he romps with their first-born, she looks forward to how many
ages of ecstasy in the sweet seclusion of their pretty home.

" There, there, Lily ! go and play with Pedro," she says at
length. "You will tire papa. He is not used to having such
a sturdy little girl to romp with him."

She is half jealous of the child, who shares her husband's
attention which she has hungered for so long. The child goes
over to the old Newfoundland who is stretched at ease on the
other side of the tree; and, when the parents look again, her
golden curls are spread upon his shaggy coat, and both are
asleep. The wife draws her husband's hand upon her knee,
lets fall her needle, and forgets the world in the joy of his pres
ence and of communion with him.

" Do you know, Metta," he said after a long silence, " that I
have half a mind to go back ? "

" Back ! where? " she asked in surprise.

"Why, back to the South, whence I have just come," he
answered.

" What ! to live ? " she asked, with wide, wondering eyes.

" Certainly : at least I hope so," he responded gayly.

" But you are not in earnest, Comfort, surely," with an under
tone of pain in her voice.

"Indeed I am, dear!" he replied. "You see, this is the
way I look at it. I have .been gone four years. These other
fellows, Gobard and Clarke, have come in, and got my practice
all away. It could not be otherwise. If not they, it must have
been some others. People must have lawyers as well as doc*
tors. So I must start anew, even if I remain here."

FROM BAD TO WORSE. 19

"But it will not be difficult," she interrupted. "You do not
know how many of your old clients have asked about you, and
were only waiting for your return to give you their business
again."

" Of course ; but it will be slow work, and I have lost four
years. Remember, I am over thirty now; and we have only
our house and the surplus of my savings in the army, — not
any thing like the competency T hoped to have secured by this
time," he said somewhat gloomily.

" But surely there is no haste. We are yet young, and have
only Lily. We can live very snugly, and you will soon have
a much better business than ever before. I am sure of that,"
she hastened to say.

" But, darling, do you know I am half afraid to stay here?
It is true I look brown and rugged from exposure, — as who that
went to the sea with Sherman does not? — and my beard, which
has grown long and full, no doubt gives me a look of sturdi-
ness and strength ; but for several months I have been far from
well. I weigh much less than when I left here ; and this old
wound in my lungs has been troubling me a deal of late.
Dr. Burns told me that my only chance for length of days was
a long rest in a genial climate. He says I am worn out ; and
of course it shows at the weak point, just like a chain. I am
afraid I shall never practice my profession again. It hardly
seems as if I could stand it to sit at the desk, or address a
jury."

" Is it so, darling ? " she asked with trembling lips, while the
happiness fled out of her face, and left the dull gray which had
come to be its accustomed look during those long years of
waiting.

" Yes," he answered tenderly ; "but do not be alarmed. It is
nothing serious, — at least not now. I was thinking, as we had
to begin over after a fashion, whether, considering every thing,
it would not be best to go South. We could buy a plantation,
and settle down to country life for a few years ; and I may get
over all traces of this difficulty in that climate. This is what
the doctor advises."

20 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" But will it be safe there ? Can we live there among the
rebels? " she inquired anxiously.

"Oh," he responded promptly, "I have no fear of that!
The war is over, and we who have been fighting each other are
now the best of friends. I do not think there will be a parti
cle of danger. For a few months there may be disorders in
some sections ; but they will be very rare, and will not last any
time."

"Well, dear/' she said thoughtfully, "you kno'w that I will
always say as Ruth did, and most cheerfully too, ' Whither
thou goest, I will go.' You know better than I; and, if your
health demands it, no consideration can be put beside that.
Yet I must own that I have serious apprehensions in regard
to it."

" Oh," he replied, "there must be great changes, of course!
Slavery has been broken up, and things must turn into new
grooves ; but I think the country will settle up rapidly, now
that slavery is out of the way. Manufactures will spring up,
immigration will pour in, and it will be just the pleasantest
part of the country. I believe one-fifth of our soldiers — arid
that the very best part of them too — will find homes in the
South in less than two years, just as soon as they can clear
out their old places, and find new ones there to their mind."

So he talked, forgetful of the fact that the social conditions
of three hundred years are not to be overthrown in a moment,
and that differences which have outlasted generations, and
finally ripened into war, are never healed by simple victory, —
that the broken link can not be securely joined by mere juxta
position of the fragments, but must be fused and hammered
before its fibers will really unite.

THE ORACLE IS CONSULTED. 21

CHAPTER V.

THE ORACLE IS CONSULTED.

THE doubt which Metta had expressed led the Fool, a few
days afterwards, to address a grave, wise man, in whose judg
ment he had always placed much reliance, in order to obtain
his views upon the proposed change of domicile. So he wrote
to his former college-president, the Rev. Enos Martin, D.D. : —

"MY DEAK OLD FRIEND, — The fact that I paid so little heed to
your monitions when under your charge, is perhaps the reason why
I prize your opinion upon any important matter now. I would like
to have your views on the question following, promising to weigh
them carefully, though I may not act upon them.

" I am considering the idea of removing my household gods to
Dixie. So far as my personal characteristics are concerned, you
know them better than any one else probably, except myself, aud
would not take my own estimate of what you do not know. I can
muster a few thousand dollars, — from eight to ten perhaps. I have
come out of the war a little the worse for what I have been through ;
having some trouble in or about one lung, no one seems to know
just where, and some other mementoes of the affectionate regard of
our rebel friends. I find my practice gone, of course, and am a bit
afraid of our cold winters. As I desire your views, I will not give
mine. Of course I must burn my bridges if I go. I am too old to
face a future containing two upheavals.
" Yours ever,

"COMFORT SEKVOSSE."

In a few days there came this answer : —

"Mr DEAR COLONEL, —I am glad to hear you are considering
the question stated in your letter. Of course I can not advise you, in
the ordinary sense of that word ; nor do I suppose you desire that I
should. I can only give my general impressions in regard to the
future of that part of the country to which you think of removing.

" It is too soon to speculate as to what will be the course of the
government in regard to the rebellious sections. A thousand plans

22 A FOOUS ERRAND.

are proposed, all of them, as it seems to me, crude, incomplete, and
weak. One thing is certain, I think: no one will be punished for
rebellion. It is true, Davis and a few others may be invited to go
abroad for a few years for the country's good, and perhaps at its ex
pense; but it will end there. There will be no examples made, no
reprisals, no confiscation. At the same time, if the results of the
war are to be secured, and the nation protected against the recur
rence of such a calamity, these States must be rebuilt from the very
ground-sill. I am afraid this is not sufficiently realized by the coun
try. I have no idea of any immediate trouble in the South. Such
exhaustive revolutions as we have had do not break forth into new
life readily. It is the smoldering embers which are to be feared,
perhaps a score of years hence. And this can be prevented only by
a thorough change in the tone and bent of the people. How much
prospect there is of such change being wrought by the spontaneous
action of the Southern people, I do not know: I fear, not much.

" It seems to me that the only way to effect it is by the influence
of Northern immigration. Of course the old economies of the plan
tation and the negro-quarters will have to give way. The labor of
that section must be organized, or rather taught to manage itself, to
become automatic in its operations. The former master is not pre
pared to do this : First, because he does not know how ; and, secondly,
because the freedman has no confidence in his old master's desire to
promote his interests. There will be exceptions; but this will be the
rule. In this re-organization, I think men who have been acquainted
with free labor will be able to give valuable aid, and accomplish good
results. I look and hope for considerable movements of population,
both from the North to the South, and vice versa ; because I think it
is only by such intermingling of the people of the two sections that
they can ever become one, and the danger of future evil be averted.
Should the present controversy be concluded, and new States erected
in the recently rebellious sections, without a large increase of the
Northern element in their populations, I am confident that the result
will be but temporary, and the future peace of the country insecure.

" As to the social and financial prospects of persons removing
there, I suppose it depends very much on the persons themselves,
and the particular locality to which they go. I should say you were
well fitted for such pioneer work; and, if you should conclude to go,
I wish you all success and happiness in your new home, and trust
that you may find there friends as devoted and sincere as you have
hitherto secured by an upright and honorable life.

" May God bless you and yours !

" ENOS MARTIN."

ALL LOST BUT HONOR. 23

By this letter, both the notions of the Fool and the fears of
his wife were strengthened. Metta, seeing him grow more and
more settled in his determination, did not think it worth while
to offer any further opposition ; but consoled herself with the
reflection that her husband's health was the thing of prime im
portance, and smothered her fear with a blind, baseless hope,
that, because what they purposed doing was a thing bom of
good motive and kindly feeling, it would be prospered. Some !
people call that " faith ; " and it is no doubt a great consolation,
perhaps the only one, when reason and common sense are
squarely opposed to the course one is taking.

CHAPTER VI.

ALL LOST BUT HOXOR.

WHILE the matter was in this unsettled state, the Fool re
ceived a letter from Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn of Pipersville, a
town in which his command had been for some time quartered
just before he had quitted the service, to which fact, among
other things, he was indebted for the honor of Colonel Vaughn's
acquaintance.

Some few days after the collapse of the Confederacy, a gen
tleman had presented himself at the headquarters of the Fool
in Pipersville, and directed the orderly in attendance to an
nounce that, —

" Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn desired to surrender, and take the
oath of allegiance."

Thereupon he was ushered into the presence of our hero, and
•with considerable pomposity announced the fact again. Some
how he did not seem to the young soldier to have that air oi
one accustomed to camps and the usage of armies which was to
be expected from a veteran of a four-years' war, W7ho came h*
at the last moment to give up his sword, after all his comrade*

24 A FOOUS ERRAND.

had been paroled and had departed. It is true, he had on the
regulation gray suit of "the enemy;" and the marks of rank
upon the collar might at one time have been intended for the
grade he had announced. He wore a light slouch hat, which,
though not of any prescribed pattern, had evidently seen much
service of some kind. But the surrender brought to light some
queer specimens of uniform and equipments, so that Colonel Ser-
vosse would not have been surprised at any thing that an officer
might have worn. There was something, however, in the loud
and somewhat effusive greeting, which, even allowing all that
it was possible should be credited to laxity of discipline,
showed that the man before him was not accustomed to associ
ation with military men. So he asked quietly, —

" Of what regiment, sir?"

" Colonel Vaughn, — Colonel Vaughn," said that worthy, de
positing himself upon a camp-stool, as if in assertion of his famil
iarity with military surroundings. " Well, sir," he continued
in a loud and somewhat assuming tone, " you've got us, over
powered us at last. It was the Irish and Germans that did it.
I had no idea you could get so many of them. They just
swarmed on your side. The Yankees never could have whipped
us in the world by themselves, — never. But it's over. I sur
render, — give up, — quit. I'm not one of those that want to
keep up a fuss always. I've come in to give myself up, and go
to work now to try and make bread and meat, sir, — bread and
meat. You uns have freed all the niggers, so that we have
nobody to work for us. Have to come to it ourselves. Haven't
you got a mule you could let me have, Colonel? Hain't got no
money ; but Zek'le Vaughn's credit's tolerably good yet, I
reckon. Lost forty odd niggers, — as likely ones, too, as ever
stood 'twixt soil and sunshine, — and now have got to go to
plowing — at my age. It's hard; but we've got to have bread
and meat, — bread and meat, sir. Hard, but can't be helped.
Did all I could agin ye ; but here you are. Let me take the
oath. I want to be sworn, and go to plowing before the suq
too hot."

" What regiment did you say, sir? " repeated the officer.

ALL LOST BUT HONOR. 25

" Oh, never mind the regiment ! " said the other : " that's all
over now. Just say Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn : that's enough.
Everybody knows Colonel Vaughn, — Zeke Vaughn. I shouldn't
wonder if you should find they knew me up at headquarters."

" It is necessary, sir, that I have the name and number of
your regiment before you can be paroled," said the officer
sharply.

" Ah, yes ! the regiment. Well, Colonel, you are mighty par
ticular, it seems to me. What difference can it make now, I
should like to know? " he asked.

"It is necessary to identify you," was the reply.

" Ah, yes ! I see. You are afraid I might break my parole,
and give you some trouble. I confess I have not been whipped ;
but I am overpowered, — overpowered, sir, — and I surrender in
good faith. I give my honor, sir, — the honor of a Southern
gentleman, — as well as my oath, sir,'" he said, with a great
show of offended dignity.

"That may be, Colonel," responded the officer; "but our
orders require that you shall be fully identified."

" Well, well ! that's very proper. Just say Colonel Vaughn of
Pipersville : that will identify me. Everybody in the State
knows me. No use of my trying to get away. I shall be right
here, when you want to find me, ready to come up, and be hung,
if that is to be the end of it. Oh, I meant it ! I was one of
the original ' Secesh,' — one of the immortal thirteen that voted
for it in this county. I never would have stopped fightin' ye if
I'd had my way. You'd never 'a' got here if I'd had my way!
But that's all over now. I want my parole, so I can go home,
and go to killin' grass ! "

" When I learn your regiment and command, I will fill out
the blank," answered the officer decisively.

" Oh, yes ! the regiment. Well, Colonel, the fact is, —
ahem ! — that I've, — ahem ! I've done forgot what number it
was."

"What! forgotten the number of your regiment?"

" Dog-goned if I hain't, — slick as you please. You see, I
wasn't in one of the regular regiments."

26 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"Well, what was your command? to what division orbrigada
were you attached ? "

"Well, I wa'n't exactly attached to any."

" Did you have an independent command V "

"No: not exactly."

" Were you on staff duty ? "

"Not exactly."

" Will you tell me what you were ' exactly ' ? "

"Well, you see, Colonel, I was just sorter sloshin' around
loose-like."

" Orderly ! " said the officer.

A soldier entered the room, and, saluting his chief, stood
waiting for orders.

" Take that man to the guard-house ! "

"But— Colonel,— I," —

" Go on ! " said the officer.

"But— I protest, Colonel, — I," —

" Not a word, sir ! Take him out ! "

The soldier took a gun which stood in the corner of the
room, and motioned towards the door.

Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn took his way through it without
more ado, and was marched to the guard-house at the point of
the bayonet, and in constant apprehension lest the orderly's
gun might explode.

CHAPTER VII.

AN OLD "UNIOXER."

IN a little time another party was ushered into the colonel's
quarters. He was a tall, lank countryman, clad in a suit of
country jeans, which was at that time almost the exclusive
wear. He had a long, scraggly beard, of a dull, sandy color,
with streaks of gray; and, as he took off his hat and bowed
deferentially, his head appeared quite bald. There was a

AN OLD " UNIONER." 27

shrewd look in his small gray eyes, and he seemed to approach
the officer as one who had a right to speak freely with him.
He coughed slightly, and put a hand to his gray beard with a
pathetic gesture as he said, —

"Colonel Servosse, I reckon."

" Yes, sir. What can I do for you? " was the answer.

"Wai, I don't know ez any thin'. I jes' thought I'd drop in
an' chat a little." He coughed again, and added apologetically,
"I'll set down, ef you'll allow."

" Oh, certainly ! " said the officer ; but the stranger had seated
himself without waiting for a reply.

"I reckon you don't know me, Colonel. No? Wai! my
name's Brown, — Jayhu Brown."

" Jehu Brown ! Not the man who piloted the boys that
escaped from Salisbury prison through the mountains in
eighteen sixty-four?"

"Yes," with another cough, "I'm that man. You weren'v
in the crowd ; were ye, Colonel ? "

" No ; but I had a friend who was, and he gave me an ex
plicit injunction, if ever I came into this section to find yo-»
out, remember him to you, and, if I could serve you in an,
manner, to do so for his sake."

"Thank ye. What might be his name? "

" Edgarton — Captain Edgarton — of the Michigan Battery ! '

" Oh, yes ! I mind him well now. A big-shouldered, likeb
man, with long hair curlin' in his neck. I cut it off, so that ii
shouldn't be a mark to f oiler us by. He's well, I hope." And
the old man coughed again.

" In excellent health. Is a colonel of artillery now, and
chief of that arm, on the staff of General Davis of the Four
teenth Corps. He would be overjoyed to see you."

"Thank ye, thank ye! So you'd heard of ole Jayhu be
fore? " said he with another apologetic cough. " I thought I'd
never seed ye. It's not often Jayhu Brown forgits a man he's
once sot his eyes on, or his name either; an' I couldn't make
out that I'd ever run across yours, though them prisoners was
that thin an' wasted that the best man might forgit to make

28 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

'om out arter they'd hed a few months of full feed." He
coughed again, a sort of chuckling hack, which seemed to take
the place of laughter with him.

"You seem to be in bad health, Mr. Brown," remarked the
colonel, alluding to his cough.

" Wai, not partickelar," answered Brown. " [Hack, hack.]
I never was very stout, though I've managed to pull through
as many close places as most men. That was a monstrous close
time going with them ar fellows from Salisbury. [Hack,
hack.] "

"Won't you have a little whiskey?" asked the colonel,
mindful of what constituted hospitality in the region W7here he
was.

"Wai, now, Colonel, it's mighty kind of you to think on't.
I don't keer ef I du just drink the health of an old friend with
ye. [Hack, hack.] "

The orderly was called, glasses set out, and liquor, sugar, and
water placed before the old man.

"No, I thank ye!" said he: "none of them fixin's fer me.
I allers did like my liquor clar, — clar an' straight." And he
poured out a brimming goblet of the fiery liquid. "I never
drinks liquor, as some folks does, just for the fun of the thing;
but I takes a full charge, an' means business. A man at my
day hain't got no time to fool away mixin' drinks. [Hack,
hack, hack.] "

He placed his hand over his mouth, as he coughed, with a
pathetic expression of countenance that suggested visions of
the churchyard.

"I don't often drink, — never, unless I need it, or feel a
hankerin' fer it. Never was drunk in my life, and don't 'How
to be ; but I've allers hearn that what was wuth doin' at all
was wuth doin' well."

Again he pressed his hand to his breast with that peculiar,
hacking cough, which seemed to be an apology, chuckle, or
explanation, as served. His tall, slender form and solemnity
of manner gave it a strange, almost ghastly, effect.

" You seem to have a very troublesome cough, Mr. Brown,"
said the colonel.

AN OLD "UNIONER." 29

"Wai [Hack, hack], I reckon, now, it mout seem so to
ye. [Hack, hack.] But do you know, Colonel, it's jest about
the handiest thing I ever hed ? I've seen the time I wouldn't
take no money fer that cough, — no money ! [Hack, hack.] "

"How is that ? I don't understand you," said the colonel.

"No, I 'spect not. Wai, that ar cough's my exemption-
papers. [Hack, hack, hack.] "

" Your * exemption-papers ! ' I am still in the dark."

"Wai, you see [Hack, hack, hack, apologetically], the Confed
erates used to git a notion every now and then that nigh about
everybody was fit fer duty in the army, ye know [Hack,
hack]; an', among the rest, ole Jayhu. [Hack, hack.] An'
them on us that couldn't handily leave home, or, leastways,
them that thought they couldn't, was mighty hard put up
for excuses. [Hack, hack.] An' I, — wal, you see, they
couldn't never find a Board, no matter who they put on it, that
wouldn't say 'twas jest a waste of transportation tu send a
man tu the front in my con-di-di-tion. [Hack, hack, hack.] "

And the old man coughed and groaned, and rolled his eyes
as if the moment of dissolution could not be far off.

" I never made no complaint, ye see ; but they never wanted
to hear my cough, when it was right holler, more'n once or
twice, before they sent me home. [Hack, hack.] 'Twas a
wonder, they said /recently, how I lived ; an' so 'twas : but
I've managed to pull through thus fer, tollable peart-like.
[Hack, hack, hack, chucklingly.] "

The colonel laughed heartily at this recital; and the old man
hacked approvingly at his mirth, but did not show a smile.

"Some on 'em," he continued, "hez laid aside ther exemp
tion-papers now thet the war's over ; but mine hez sarved me
so well, I believe I'll hang on tu it. [Hack, hack.] It's been
right handy, an' may come in play agin. They wasn't all ez
handy ez mine. Thar's my neighbor Mastin, now: he hed a
powerful good paper; but it was onhandy, — mighty so. He
got it up in a hurry ; but mine was home-made, an' no sort of
inconvenience. Ye see, Mastin was stout as a b'ar, — didn't
even look delicate, which is a great help in such a thing. But,

30 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

the mornin' of the day that he was ordered tu report fer ex*
animation, he come tu town with his head tied up ez if he'd
hed the mullygrubs fer a coon's age. [Hack, hack.] Every
body asked him what was the matter, an' he told 'em he'd
come in tu git the government doctors tu tell him. He'd been
mighty bad off, he said, fer a long time, an' was tu pore to git
a doctor hisself, an' was mighty glad he'd been draw'd, 'cause
he 'llowed he'd git some treatment now, 'thout payin' for it.
So, when they asked him afore the Board what was the matter,
he said, arter some fussin', ez ef he couldn't hear good, that
'twas his ear was a-troublin' him. An' one of the doctors
pulled off the bandages, an' dug about half a bale o' cotting
out; an', jest ez he pulled out the last plug, he turned away his
head, an' hollered out, ; Git out o' here ! yer head's rottener
than Lazarus ! ' [Hack, hack.] Yer see, Mastin's wife hed
dropped about half of a bad egg inter his ear that inornin'.
[Hack, hack, hack.] 'Twas good papers enough, but onhandy.
[Hack, hack.]"*

" I should think so," said the colonel, when he could subdue
his laughter.

"But they wasn't all so," continued the old man. "That
man you hed in here this mornin', an' sent oft' so unceremonious,
he had some mighty good papers; but I see he's laid 'em aside,
an' that perhaps is the reason he's in the guard-house now."

" Whom do you mean ? Not Colonel Vaughn ! " said the
colonel.

" Thet's what he calls himself ; but we mostly calls him ' Zeke
Vaughn,' or more ginerally jist ' Zeke,' or 'hollerin' Zeke.'"

" What did he want of exemption-papers? "

"Wai, — mostly for the same purpose we all on us did, I
reckon ! "

" Why, I thought he was an original Secesh, a regular fire-
eater ! "

" So he was at the start, an' in fact all the way through

* The questionable taste of this anecdote must be admitted; but the story is
genuine and true, and is here given because so thoroughly characteristic of the
time, place, and people.

AN OLD " UNIONER." 31

when it was a question of talkin' only ; but when it come to
fightin' he wa'n't fire-eater enough to want to deprive any one
else of a fair show of the fire. [Hack, hack.] So he got on
two sticks in the spring of sixty-two, an' hain't been off 'em
sence, except to go to bed, till last week he went out on his legs
into old Polly Richardson's field to keep the Yankees from
gobblin' him up."

" He hasn't been in the army, then? "

"Been in the army! Why, bless yer soul! he hasn't seen a
Yankee, alive or dead, since the thing begun, till he seed you ;
an* ef you treat him ez you hev to-day he's not like tu die tu
git a sight of ye agin."

" But isn't he a colonel ? "

" Wai, —not much, tu hurt. [Hack, hack.] "

" Then how did he get the title ? "

" That would be hard tellin', Mister ! "

"A militia colonel, I suppose."

"I doubt it. Never heard on't, ef he was. I think he jest
picked it up ez about ten thousand more in the State hez. Got
it by registerin' hisself ez sech at hotels, an' givin' fellers a
drink tu holler fer ' Colonel Vaughn ' at perlitical meetin's, an'
then answerin' tu the call."

" Well, what was his exemption- paper, as you call it? "

" Oh ! he jest hobbled around on two sticks, pretendin' tu be
the worst drawd-up man with rheumatiz you ever seed, till
you uns come. You served him right, an' I was glad on't."

In the afternoon several of the leading citizens of the town
dropped in, and confirmed indirectly the old Unioner's report
in regard to the doughty colonel. They said he was loud
mouthed and imprudent ; but there was not a bit of harm in
him, and he was very much of a gentleman, and of a most
respectable family.

So, towards night, he sent an order for the prisoner's release,
accompanied by this note addressed to him : —

" SIR, — Having learned the origin of your title, I have ordered
your release, and beg to say that the government of the United

32 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

States does not consider any parole necessary in your case. You are
therefore at liberty to go anywhere you choose.
"Respectfully,

"COMFORT SEKVOSSE,
" Colonel commanding Post.''

The colonel supposed he had seen the last of " Colonel "
Vaughn : but in this he reckoned without the " colonel ; " for
that worthy at once attached himself to his headquarters as a
sort of supernumerary orderly and chief volunteer adviser of
the young officer. He managed to get a fine team, and made
himself indispensable in planning and executing the daily
drives into the surrounding country, which the colonel and his
officers so much enjoyed as a pleasing contrast to the restraints
of a long and arduous campaign. He was a man of great
local knowledge, and a sort of good-natured persistency, which
induced the impression that he was nothing worse than a well-
meaning bore, who was to be endured at all times for the sake
of his occasional usefulness and universal cheerfulness.

Among other things talked of in these drives had been the
subject of Northern immigration, the revival of business, and
the re-organization of labor. On such occasions Vaughn had
always clamorously contended that what the subjugated section
most required was Northern capital, Northern energy, and
Northern men to put it again on the high road to prosperity.

In one of their drives they had often passed a plantation
known as the "Warrington Place," which had particularly at
tracted the attention of our Fool, and he had frequently ex
pressed his admiration for it. Indeed, he had more than once
ridden over the grounds, and examined the premises with that
air of remonstrant anger at its neglected state which betrays
the incipient interest of the would-be owner. This fact had
not been unnoted by the observant Vaughn ; and he had deter
mined, if possible, to coin an honest penny out of the young
colonel's admiration. He was a keen observer of human
nature, and knew that it would not do to flush his game too
quickly. He reasoned rightly, that, when the freshness of his
return to old associations had worn away, the young man's mind

« THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES." 33

would be sure to recur with something like longing to his recent
surroundings. No active-minded man can settle down after
four years of war to the every-day life of former years, without
more than one twinge of restlessness and vague regret for the
time when " boots and saddles " ushered in the ever-changing
days.

The months passed; and, as recorded in Chapter VI., our
Fool had returned to his home. One day he received a brief
letter, under date of Sept. 1, 1865, which was as follows : —

" DEAR COLONEL, — The ' Warrington Place ' is for sale, cheap as
dirt. Five thousand dollars cash will take the whole place (six hun
dred acres); that is, five thousand dollars gold. Our folks haven't
got to understand greenbacks much as yet. We have had paper
money enough for four years. This is a grand chance for a gentle
man of your stamp. We need just such. Northern men are crowd
ing in here every day. One man is putting up a factory, and three
have opened stores. Shall I tell Griswold, who has the prop
erty in charge, that you will take Warrington ? I am very anxious
you should have it. I know it will suit you so well. If you don't
conclude to take it, let me know at once, as some other parties are
offering.

" Yours truly,

" COLONEL EZEKIEL VAUGHN.

"P.S. — I can get it on better terms than anybody else, because
of my relations with Griswold.

"E. V."

CHAPTER VIII.

" THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES."

WARRINGTON had been the seat of an old family whose
ancestor, many years before the Revolution, had erected the
usual double log-house (or " two-decks-and-a-passage," as it is
still called in that country), in the midst of a charming oak-
grove, upon a gently sloping hill, which rose in the bend of as

34 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

fair a stream as ever babbled over the rocks in foolish haste
towards the far-away sea. This log-house had in time given
way to a more pretentious structure of brick ; the grove had
been thinned and trimmed, and avenues laid out in it ; and
the years which had made the house old and damp, worn the
mortar from the bricks, and covered the cypress roof with a
carpet of moss, had added glory to the forest monarchs which
stood around it, and stretched, year by year, their great arms
closer and closer about it, as if to hide its imperfections, and
screen its decrepitude from the beholder.

The Warringtons themselves were akin to some of the
highest families in the State, and so prided themselves upon
their opulence and position that they became chary of alliances

-with others. They intermarried until the vigor which had
amassed great estates became weakened, and imbecility and

I vice succeeded. The estates were squandered, the revenues
lessened, and one plantation after another absorbed, until
finally Warrington itself, the family-seat, went to satisfy the
demands of importunate creditors half a score of years before
our story. Fortunately (or unfortunately, rather, for our Fool)
the plantation fell into the hands of an eccentric Frenchman,
a bachelor with an abundant fortune, and a taste for horticul
ture and pomology. He was struck with the beauty of the
situation, and the quality of the fruits produced there; and
building a neat lodge on one side of the grounds, almost o\er-
hanging a little waterfall, which he had improved until it
became one of the chief attractions of the place, he shut up
the great house, and devoted himself to the culture of fruits
and flowers with a contented zeal which yielded marvelous
results. All about the central grove of oak and hickory were
orchards and vineyards of the rarest and most luscious fruits.
Evergreens had been interspersed with deciduous varieties in
the grove, and trees of quaint habit and striking foliage were
grouped here and there through the grounds.

Of the plantation beyond the immediate surroundings of
the house — the six hundred acres of alternate hill and bottom,
with woodland and old field interspersed — he had been less

"THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES." 35

careful, having left it in the hands of an overseer to be culti
vated or left idle as the fancy or inclination of that worthy
might dictate. All he wanted from that portion of his prop
erty was, that it should pay the expense of its own cultivation,
and furnish enough corn, meat, and forage to subsist himself
and the two "boys" (slaves) whom he kept to help him in
liis horticultural operations, together with the horses and
mules employed on the plantation. This was easy, without
cultivating more than one-half the arable land. The overseer
consequently reduced his cares, and accomplished all his em
ployer required, by " turning out " from year to year portions
of the plantation, and failing to "take in" any new ground.
The consequence was that when Mr. Noyotte died, in the sec
ond year of the war, the bulk of the farming-lands had grown
up into pine and sassafras, with rank sedge-grass waving thickly
between, and great red gullies stretching across towards every
ravine and water-course. The lands which had been under
actual cultivation had become very much worn and depreciated
by slothful management, until the hillsides were washed, and
the bottoms filled with the detritus, to the great detriment not
only of the slopes above, but also of the rich alluvium be
neath.

The eccentric owner had died, so far as was known, without
heirs. He had never been a favorite in the neighborhood, and
very little was known of his affairs. His housekeeper, a quad
roon woman, claimed his estate under a will duly executed ;
but as it was suggested that she was a slave and incapable of
" taking " under it, and as she was unable to prove the con
trary, the will was set aside, and an administrator appointed.
It was found that the deceased had become indebted to an ex
tent which his personal estate was insufficient to discharge,
especially considering the very low prices which it brought at
the sale which the administrator made for that purpose.

Nearly every thing was bought by Colonel Vaughn at figures
•which would have amazed one who knew nothing of how such
matters may be arranged. It was given out and believed that
Colonel Vaughn had been authorized, by a letter which had

36 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

passed the blockade, to represent the heirs of the deceased, —
nephews and nieces who lived in France, — and that he was
buying in the property just to hold for them. Therefore, when
likely negro slaves were bid off by Colonel Vaughn for fifty
dollars apiece in Confederate money, every one said it was all
right, and there was no counter-bidding. The administrator
made his report of sales, and, there being a deficiency of assets,
obtained an order to sell the lands, which he was authorized to
do either at public or private sale.

Less than ten dollars an acre for such a plantation seemed
to the Fool, who was accustomed to the high prices of land at
the Xorth, extravagantly cheap, — as perhaps it was in the
abstract. He did not know that in its palmiest days the plan
tation would never have brought that price at a cash sale;
while its condition had so deteriorated, that, by the same scale
of prices, it would now hardly have been worth more than half
that sum : besides which, the deleterious effects of the war
upon the value of all property in that region were hardly to be
estimated. Of all this he took no account. He answered at
once that Colonel Vaughn might take the property at the price
named, if he could get a good title. Of that he wished to be
sure. Then there came an abstract of title from an attorney of
the highest repute, as he well knew, and with it this note : —

" Griswold was anxious to sell : so I bought, knowing that you
would be sure to take the place when satisfied of the title, as you
will be when you read this. I got it a trifle below the price I named
to you; and you can have it for what I paid, any time within two
mouths.

"COLONEL EZEKIEL VAUGHN."

So the Fool sold his pretty home, packed up his household
idols, took his wife and little daughter, and went to seek
health, happiness, and fortune in Dixie. The trade which had
been initiated by the persistent Vaughn was duly consum
mated, and Comfort Servosse became the owner in fee of the
family-seat of the Warringtons. It took almost all of his little
fortune to pay for it ; but, when he had done so, he felt that he
had accomplished a good work. He had made a fair bargain,

THE NEW KINGDOM. 37

and had now a basis for future happiness and prosperity ; and for
this he felt himself under some obligation to Colonel Vaughn,
and came to the conclusion, that, if that worthy was not gifted
•with a stomach for fight, he was at all events a good-hearted,
obliging fellow. It was not till afterwards that he found out
how many prices he had paid ; for, when the heirs of Mr. Noy-
otte — the nephews and nieces in France — sent over to reclaim
the residue of the property in the hands of the administrator, it
appeared from the record that the land had been sold privately
to Colonel Vaughn in 1863, and that there had been received
in payment thereof a certain amount of Confederate money,
which was duly filed by the administrator, and reported by
him as having been lost by the events of the war.

But these things were unknown to the Fool for several years ;
and Warririgton came into his hands a new toy, unsmutched
by any suspicion that he had paid too much for his whistle.

CHAPTER IX.

THE NEW KINGDOM.

WHY attempt to paint the delights of that first winter at
Warrington ?

Upon examining the place, it was found that the French
man's lodge had been used for purposes which prevented its
present occupation as a dwelling, and they were forced to go
into the old brick mansion. It needed much repairing, and at
the best was worth more to look at than to occupy. Yet there
was a certain charm about the great rooms, with their yawning
fireplaces and dingy ceilings. Transportation was yet defec
tive ; and it was long before their furniture could arrive over
railroads, worn and old, which had been the object of attack by
both armies at different periods of the war.

It was the middle of October when they entered upon their

38 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

new possession ; and all was so new and so lovely to Metta and
the little Lily, that no lack of creature-comforts could have
checked their enthusiasm. The balmy air, the unfamiliar
landscape, the strange sense of isolation which always marks
the Southern plantation life, and, above all, the presence of the
husband and father who had been absent so long, all united
to make them superlatively happy.

Metta rode with her husband all over the country, whose
strange irregularity became every day more pleasing to them,
— through the thick woods along the bridle-path, where the
ground was covered with autumn foliage which had fallen from
ripeness rather than from the effects of frost ; past the little
country farm-houses and the seats of wealthy planters ; fording
rivers, and crossing rude ferries ; every one whom they met,
whether of high or low degree or of whatever race, having
something about him which was new and strange to one of
Northern birth and education.

A letter which Metta wrote to her sister shortly after they
arrived will show the feelings of the young wife : —

"Mv DEAR JULIA, — I do not know how I can better employ a
few hours of Thanksgiving Day than in writing you the promised
letter of our new home and our journey here. While you are shiv
ering with cold, perhaps looking out upon ice and snow, I am sitting
upon a little veranda, over which clambers a rose-vine still wreathed
with Luds and blossoms. There has been a slight frost; and those
on the outside are withered, but those within are yet as fresh as if
it were but June. The sun shines warmly in, and every thing with
out is touched with that delicious haziness which characterizes the
few peculiar autumn days of the North that we call Indian summer.
There is the same soft, dreamy languor, and the same sense of infinite
distance around us.

" Every body and everything is new to us; that is, to Lily and
me. Comfort's four years of soldier-life made him very familiar
with similar scenes; and, I doubt not, a large part of our enjoyment
comes from having him to explain all these wonders to us.

" It did seem terribly lonely and desolate when we first arrived.
Vou know Comfort had come before, and completed the purchase,
and made some preparations for our reception ; that is, he had en
gaged somebody to make the preparations, and then returned for us.

THE NEW KINGDOM. 39

We had a fearful journey, — rough seas and rickety hoats, a rough
country, and railroads which seemed to lack all that we have con
sidered the essentials of such structures. The rails were worn and
broken, the cross-ties sunken and decayed; while every now and
then we would see where some raiding party had heated the rails,
and twisted them around trees, and their places had been supplied
with old rusty pieces taken from some less important track. Com
fort said he believed they would run the train on ' the right of way '
alone pretty soon. All through the country were the marks of war,
— forts and earthworks and stockades. Army-wagons, ambulances,
and mules are scattered everywhere, and seem to be about all the
means of transportation that are left. The poor Confederacy must
have been on its last legs when it gave up.

- " The last twelve hours of the trip it rained, — rained as you never
saw it, as I think it never can rain except in this climate. To say that
it poured, would give you but a faint idea of it. It did not beat or
blow: there was not a particle of storm, or any thing like excitement
or exertion about it. It only fell — steadily, quietly, and uninter
ruptedly. It seemed as if the dull, heavy atmosphere were shut in
by an impenetrable canopy of clouds, and laden with an exhaustless
amount of water, just sufficiently condensed to fall. There was no
patter, but one ceaseless sound of falling water, almost like the
sheet of a cascade in its weight and monotony, on the roof of the
old leaky car. In the midst of this rain, at midnight, we reached
the station nearest to Warrington. It is, in fact, a pretty little town
of two thousand or so inhabitants ; but it was as dark as the cata
combs, and as quiet, save for the rain falling, falling everywhere,
without intermission. The conductor said there was a good hotel,
if we could get to it; but there was no vehicle of any kind, and no
light at the station except the conductor's lantern, and a tallow can
dle flickering in the little station-house.

" Comfort got our baggage off, and stored in the station-house,
after a deal of trouble; and with bags and boxes on our arms, and
muffled up to the chin to keep out the rain (which seemed to come
through an umbrella as if it scorned such an attempt to divert it
from its course), we started for the hotel under the pilotage of the
conductor with his lantern. Such a walk ! As Comfort helped me
out of the car, he said, 'It's fearfully muddy.' He need not have
said it. Already I was sinking, sinking, into the soft, tenacious mass.
Rubbers were of no avail, nor yet the high shoes I had put on in
order to be expressly prepared for whatever might await me. I
kegan to fear guicksand; and, if you had seen my clothing the next
morning, you would not have wondered. Luckily it was dark, and

40 A FOOUS ERRAND.

no one can ever more than guess what a drabbled procession we
made that night.

" And then the hotel; but I spare you that ! Lily cried herself to
sleep, and I came very near it.

" The next morning the earth was as bright and smiling as if a
deluge had not passed over it a few hours before. Comfort was all
impatience to get out to Warrington, and we were as anxious to
leave that horrible hotel. So he got an ambulance, and we started.
He said he had no doubt our goods were already there, as they had
been sent on three weeks before, and he had arranged with a party
to take them out to the plantation. At least, he said, we could not
be worse off than we were at that wretched hotel, in which I fully
agreed with him; but he did not know what was in store for us !

" Warrington is only six miles from the station ; but we were
two mortal hours in getting there with our trunks and the boxes we
had brought with us. Think of riding through mud almost as red as
blood, as sticky as pitch, and " deeper than plummet ever told," for
two hours, after an almost sleepless night and a weary journey of
seven days, and you may faintly guess with what feelings I carne to
Warrington. As we drove up the avenue under the grand old oaks,
just ripening into a staid and sober brown, interspersed with hicko
ries which were one blaze of gold from the lowest to the topmost
branch, and saw the gray squirrels (which the former owner would
not allow to be killed, and no one had had time to kill since) playing
about, and the great brick house standing in silent grandeur amid
this mimic forest, I could have kissed the trees, the squirrels, the
weather-beaten porch, the muddy earth itself, with joy. It was
home, — rest. Comfort saw the tears in my eyes, the first which I
had shed in it all, and said tenderly, —

" ' There, there ! It's almost over ! ' as if I had been a tired baby.

" Lily was in rapture over the beauties of the old place, as indeed
she had good right to be; but I was tired. I wanted rest. We drove
to the house, and found it empty, — desolate. The doors were open ;
the water had run across the hall; and every thing was so barren,
that I could only sit down and cry. After some trouble: Comfort
found the man who was to have made the repairs, and brought out
the goods. He said the goods had not come, and he 'llowed there
wa'n't no use fixin' things till they come.

" Comfort sent the ambulance which brought us out to go back
and get some provisions, a few cooking utensils, and some other
absolute necessities. A colored woman was found, who came in,
and, with the many willing hands which she soon summoned to her
aid, made the old house (or one room of it) quite cozy. Our things

THE NEW KINGDOM. 41

have been coming by piecemeal ever since, and we are now quite
comfortable.

' ' Comfort has bought me a riding-horse, — a beaiTtiful blooded bay
mare; and he has his old war-horse, Lollard, which he had left in
this vicinity with an old man named Jehu Brown, — who, by the
way, is a ' character,' — having an impression that we might come
here. So we ride a great deal. The roads are so rough that it is
difficult to get about in any other way; and it is just delightful riding
through the wood-paths, and the curious crooked country roads, by
day or night.

" The people here seem very kind and attentive. . A good many
gentlemen have called to see Comfort. They are all colonels or
squires, and very agreeable, pleasant men. A few ladies have called
on me, — always with their husbands though; and I think they are
inclined to be less gracious in their manner, and not so cordial in
their welcome, as the gentlemen. I notice that none of them have
been very pressing in their invitations for us to return their courtesy.
Comfort says it is not at all to be wondered at, but that we ought
rather to be surprised and pleased that they came at all; and I do
not know but he is right.

" Two or three countrymen came to see Comfort a few days after
our arrival. They were all ' misters,' not ' colonels ' and ' squires.'
They said they were Union men; and it was wonderfully interesting
to hear them tell, in their quaint provincialisms, what happened to
them during the war.

" We rode out to see one of them afterwards, and found him a
thrifty farmer, with four or five hundred acres of good land, living
in a log-house, with a strange mixture of plainness and plenty about
him. Somehow I think I shall like this class of people better than
the other, — though they are rough and plain, — they seem so very
good-hearted and honest.

" We are going to have the teachers from the colored school at
Verdenton here to dinner to-day to keep Thanksgiving. There are
some half-dozen of them, — all Northern girls. I have not met them ;
but Comfort says they are very pleasant ladies. Of course they
have no society except a few Northern people; and he has gone to
bring them out to give them a treat as well as ourselves, I suppose.
" Yours ever, with love to all,

"METTA."

A FOOUS ERRAND.

CHAPTER X.

POOR TRAY.

THE next letter was during the week which succeeded Christ
mas Day, and explains itself : —

"MY DEAR JULIA, — My last letter to you was written while I
was waiting for the young ladies, who are teaching at Verdenton,
to come and share our Thanksgiving dinner. That was a momentous
day for us, and that dinner a most important affair. "We were a
little short of some things necessary for such an occasion; hut we
pieced and fitted, and, with the help of the willing hands of many
colored girls (you must remember that all colored women are
'girls'), we made out to spread a very respectable table. Com
fort had gone into town early with my little bridle-wise mare Jaca,
in leading for one of the young ladies to ride; and the ambulance
followed for the others. Just as my letter was finished, they all
came up the avenue to the house; and a merrier crowd I am sure I
never saw in my life. Six sweeter girls could not be found. They
are employed by the Missionary Association to teach in the colored
schools that have sprung up all over the South like magic, and are
real ' missionaries ' in the very best sense of the word. They are
from six different States, and never saw each other until they met
here at the school in Verdenton, and are all cultivated, refined
ladies of the best class of our Northern people, who have come here
simply to do good. It was really charming to see them, so fresh
and girlish, just from loving homes,, and tender friends, coming
away down here on a noble errand, where they are despised and
insulted for the very good they perform. Only the few Northern
people who are here will have any thing to do with them. They are
as much missionaries, and have as much to undergo, as if they were
in Turkey; indeed more, if our old friend who is teaching in Beirut
tells the whole truth in regard to her difficulties. We had a delight
ful tlay ; and towards night both of us returned with them, and
sending back the ambulance, and keeping only our saddle-horses,
staid at the Mission House, as their abode is called, until after nine
o'clock; and then Comfort and I rode home in the moonlight. I
don't think I was ever happier in my life, or felt that I had been the

POOR TRAY. 43

cause of more happiness to others, than on that day; and, when w
knelt for our evening prayer, I did thank God with all my heart
that he had directed our steps hitherward, for I believe we have a
blessed work to do, and that our lives here will not be in vain.

" A few days afterward I went to call on some of the ladies who
had visited me. It was so far that Comfort went with me, and I
persuaded him to let me go on horseback; for it is so unpleasant
to ride in an ambulance, which is the only alternative. This would
not be quite en regie at home, I know; but here it is a very general
thing, and it is a mode of traveling too delightful ever to be aban
doned. We called at three houses, and were received at all of them
with a very marked restraint of manner, and with positive rudeness
in one case. I felt as if I could cry from disappointment and cha
grin. We wanted to be friendly, and avoided every subject of
conversation which could give pain; and it seemed too bad to be
met with such coolness. Comfort tried to console me as we rode
home; bat I could see that he felt it as well as I.

" A day or two after this, Squire Hyman, who is one of our near
est neighbors, though he lives a mile away, came over to see us.
He is a queer old gossip, who is so anxious to be on good terms
with everybody that he has hard times to keep anybody on his
side. During the war, it seems, he played fast and loose; and it is
amusing enough to hear Colonel Vaughn and his Confederate friends
caution us against him as a man who professed to be ' all right,'
but was all the time encouraging deserters and harboring bush
whackers; and then to hear Jehu Brown, and other known and relia
ble Unionists, say, ' He won't du tu tie ter. He was always claimin'
tu be a powerful good Union man, an' at the same time givin' in
formation agin any o' the boys that was hidin' out.'

" I knew that he had something ' very particular,' as he says, to
tell the moment he came into the room; but it was a long time be
fore he could get to it. I think Comfort suspected what it was, and
purposely led him away from the point he was striving to reach.
At length he ' bounced it squarely,' as the country-people hereabout
say, with the statement, —

" ' I hear they've got a powerful big school for the — the niggers
as we call them, — in Verdenton.'

" ' Oh, yes ! ' I answered in all innocence. ' We had the young
ladies who are teaching there out here to our Thanksgiving dinner,
and liked them very much.'

"'Indeed! I don't know any thing about them, good or bad.
Of course I hear a good deal said; but that's neither here nor there.
Some folks make a heap of fuss about every thing ; but I'm one of

44 A FOQL'S ERRAND.

them that lets other folks alone if they don't trouble me. That's
right, ain't it, Colonel ?. He, he ! '

" ' I don't see why there should be any thing said against these
youijg ladies,' said I.

" ' Well,' he replied, ' you know how we Southern people are.
"We have our own notions.' And he winked, and chuckled to him
self; and I said rather sharply, —

" ' I don't see what your notions have to do with these young
ladies, who are certainly doing God's work in teaching these poor
colored people, old and young.'

" ' Oh, certainly ! it would look so; but ' —

" ' But what ? ' said Comfort so markedly that the old man
jumped in his seat.

"'Oh — nothing — that is — nothing of account — only — you
know, Colonel, we can't help thinking that any one that comes from
the North down here, and associates with niggers — can't — well —
can't be of much account at home.'

" ' And you call teaching colored people associating with them?1
asked Comfort.

" ' Well, of course, in a manner,' answered the squire hesitatingly.

" ' And you doubtless think it disreputable to associate with such
teachers ? '

"'Well, Colonel, I'm glad you mentioned it. I didn't want to
broach it myself, being a delicate subject, you know; but it is so
counted — by — the best society, you know.'

" ' So you came to warn us that if we continue to associate with
these teachers we must forego the pleasures of good society here
abouts ? '

" ' Well, I had heard remarks, you know. I name no names; but
I thought it would be no more than neighborly, being as you were
strangers as I may say, and not accustomed to our ways, to let you
know, so that you might be careful in the future.'

" ' Thank you. We are certainly under many obligations to you
for letting us know whom we are to be permitted to associate with,
and whom not.'

" ' Oh, not at all ! not at all ! I'm sure it's no more than I would
do for any neighbor,' said the squire with an air of gratified vanity.

" ' Certainly not, Squire,' said Comfort sarcastically, — and I knew
from the flashing of his eyes that some one would get a shot, —
' certainly not ; and it is 'my confidence in your neighborly inclina
tion which makes me presume to ask a favor at your hands.'

" ' Any thing in the world that I can do, sir. I'm sure I shall be
proud to serve you,' said the squire with marked enthusiasm.

POOR TRAY. 45

" •' Then, Squire, I would be glad if you would say to these good
people who have undertaken to regulate our associations, that I
bought this property, paid for it cash down, and am quite capable
of regulating iny own affairs without their aid.'

" ' What do you mean, sir ? ' said the squire, starting from his seat,
white with rage. ' Do you mean to insult me ? '

" ' I mean,' said Comfort quietly, ' to say that the ladies who are
teaching in the colored school at Verdenton are ladies of character
and culture, fit associates for my wife, and fully the equals of any
lady in the State. I desire to say further, that, regarding them as
such, if it comes to a choice between ostracizing them simply be
cause of the good work in which they are engaged, and losing the
approval of the first families of Verdenton and vicinity, I shall cer
tainly choose the latter.'

"'Well — of course," said the squire, somewhat staggered by
this view of the matter, ' of course you have a right to your own
way. I meant no harm, not the least in the world. Good-evening,
sir ! Good-evening, Madam ! ' And he was gone to do the errand at
Comfort's bidding.

" Colonel Vaughn came the next day upon the same errand. I did
not hear the conversation he had with Comfort ; but he talked very
loud, and I suppose was answered much as the squire had been. I
heard Comfort say to him, just as he was leaving, —

" ' I fought four years, sir, for the privilege of living under the
flag of the United States with all the rights of a citizen in any part
of the Union, and I do not intend to permit anybody to dictate my
conduct towards anybody else.'

" ' If your family associate with nigger teachers, you can not
expect respectable people to recognize them as associates.'

" ' We do not ask anybody to associate with us, sir. We are not
suppliants for recognition. If people desire our friendship, we are
frank and outspoken, pretending to nothing more than we are, and
accepting others as we find them. If they do not wish to associate
with us, we do not complain, and are not likely to mourn.'

"The colonel, as he calls himself, went away in high dudgeon;
and the next week the paper published at Verdenton had a dirty
little squib in regard to the matter, which I send you.

[" It read as follows: —

" ' Our readers will regret to learn that the Canadian Yankee Servosse, who
has bought the Warrington Place, is one of those fanatical abolitionists whose
infamous doctrines were the real cause of all the suffering and bloodshed of the
last four years. Our citizens had extended many favors to him, and our ladies
had shown very marked courtesy to hia family. Instead of appreciating these

46 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

things, he has chosen to slander our first ladies by comparing them with the
nigger schoolmarras who have come down here to teach social equality by
example.

" ' We understand that Servosse had all these free-love nigger-missionaries of
the female persuasion out at Warrington to celebrate the new Yankee holiday,
which has been added to the governmental calendar since the first year of Lin
coln's reign, called. Thanksgiving Day. The day itself is a relic of New-England
Puritanical hypocrisy, and, we understand, was fitly observed at Warrington,
where they ate and drank, and sung "John Brown," "We're coining, Father
Abraham," and similar melodies. It is said that one of the " N. T's." became so
full of the spirit of the occasion, that she kissed one of the colored boys who
waited at the table. Colonel Servosse cannot expect his family to be recognized
by respectable people if he chooses such associates for them.']

" Did you ever see any thing so mean ? Of course we don't care
any thing about it: only one likes to live peaceably with one's neigh
bors if possible. Comfort was very much exasperated when he first
saw this, and went into town in a very angry mood. I don't know
what he did; but the next week there was a very abject apology in
the paper. It made a great excitement though, and even many of the
colored people advised us not to have the teachers here any more.
('N. T.,' you know, is Southern euphemism for Nic/f/er Teacher.)
Of course we paid no attention to it, and will have them here just as
often as we can, both to show that we are not moved by such things,
and because they enjoy coming so much.

" Some time ago Comfort concluded to establish a sabbath school
lor colored people, as there are a great many in this neighborhood,
and no school of any kind for them nearer than Verdenton. So he
consulted with some of their leading men, and they fixed up an
arbor and some seats in a grove not far from the house; and you
ought to see what congregations gather there Sunday afternoons.
Two or three white men came in at first, as if to see what would be
done. Comfort asked them to take classes, and help us teach
these poor people. One old man with long, white hair, strange, dark
eyes, and a mild, soft voice, came forward, and said that it was a
good work, and he thanked God that he had put it into the mind of
this new neighbor to do it ; and he for one would do all in his power
to assist him.

" The others stood off, and did not seem to know what to do about
the matter. The old man's name is George D. Garnet. He is of
Huguenot descent, and belongs to a large family in the South, whose
name has been corrupted from its original orthography. He is very
proud of his descent, and was attracted to us by our name being
also French. He is a deacon of the Baptist church in Mayfield,

POOR TRAY. 47

about twenty miles from here. He says he has been trying to get
his church to take hold of a colored sabbath school from the very
day of the surrender; but they will not hear him. He has often
staid to tea with us, and we find him very entertaining indeed.
He is very eccentric, as is evident from what he says, and the stories
the colored people tell of him. He says he was a slaveholder who
thought slavery wrong, — a ' Virginia abolitionist,' as he says. The
colored people say that he used to buy slaves who were anxious to be-
free, and let them work out their freedom. He was not a rich man,
only just a good 'common liver,' as they say; but in this way he
bought and freed many slaves.

" The colored people flock around us as if they thought ' de Yan
kee kunnel ' could do every thing, and hire them all. I think I
could have a hundred housemaids if I would take all that come to
me, and Lilian has nurses enough offered to take charge of all the
children in your town.

" Comfort has decided to sell all of Warrington but a hundred
acres. The rest lies along the creek, and is very well fitted to cut
up into little farms of ten and twenty acres for colored men, giving
them upland to live on, with a little timber, and a piece of good
bottom to cultivate. He is going to put little log-houses on them,
and sell them to colored people on six or ten years' time. It will
make quite a little town.

" We hope to do some good, and trust that the foolish prejudice
of the people will wear away. It is strange how credulous they are,
though. An old country-woman, who came along with some things
to sell the other day, said she had heard that the colonel had come
down here to try and ' put the niggers over the white folks,' and
wanted to know if it was true ! She had a snuff-stick in her mouth,
and neither she nor her two grown daughters could read or write !
It is wonderful how many there are here who are so ignorant ; and
those who are not ignorant are full of a strange prejudice against
all who are not of their own particular set, and think and believe
just as they do.

" There are some reports of difficulties experienced by Northern
men in some parts of the South ; but we hope they are exaggerated.
" Yours ever,

"METTA."

48 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XL

A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET.

SERVOSSE was very busy during the winter and spring which
followed in building the houses referred to by Metta, and
laying out and selling a large part of his plantation. He
found the colored men of the best character and thrifty habits,
anxious to buy lands, and no one else was willing to sell to
them. He purchased some Confederate buildings which were
sold by the government, tore them down, and, out of the
materials, constructed a number of neat and substantial little
houses on the lots which he sold. He also assisted many of
them to buy horses, in some instances buying for them, and
agreeing to take his pay in grain and forage out of the crops
they were to raise. In the mean time he gave a great deal of
attention to the improvement of Warrington, expecting to
reap his reward from the thousands of fruit-trees which Mr.
Noyotte had planted, and which had grown to be full-bearing,
in spite of neglect since his death. These trees and vines
were all carefully pruned and worked; and Warrington assumed
the appearance of thrift and tidiness, instead of the neglect
and decay which had before been its distinguishing features.
There was some fault found with the sales which he made to
colored men, on the ground that it had a tendency to promote
" nigger equality ; " but he was so good-natured and straight
forward in the matter that but little was said, and nothing done
about it at that time, though he heard of organizations in
some parts of the State instituted to prevent the colored people
from buying land or owning horses.

The succeeding summer was well advanced when he went
one day to attend a political meeting which was held in a little
grove some seven miles from Warrington. It was a meeting
purporting to be called for consultation in regard to the general

A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET. 49

interests of the country. Eminent speakers were advertised to
attend ; and Servosse felt no little curiosity, both to see such a
gathering, and to hear what the speakers might have to say.
He had never been any thing of a politician, and had no desire
or expectation of being one. He rode to the meeting, which
he found to be far greater than he expected, not less than a
thousand people having assembled. Almost every man came
on his horse or on foot; and the horses stood about, tied to
the lower limbs of the trees in the grove where the meeting was
held. There were many speeches of the kind peculiar to the
•Southern stump, full of strong, hard hits, overflowing with wit
and humor, and strongly seasoned with bombast. Stories of
questionable propriety were abundant, and personalities of the
broadest kind were indulged in.

Servosse sat among the crowd, enjoying to the utmost this
:iew experience, and wondering how people could relish con
tending so hotly over each other's records during and before
the war. It all seemed to him very amusing. But, when they
came to address themselves to the future, he became interested
for another reason.

It will be noted by the reader who cares to trace back a few
years of memory, or consult the records which have jot yet
become history, that this was in the primary period of what
has since become memorable as the era of "reconstruction."
The plan which was then sought to be put into operation by
the Executive* was what has since been known as the "presi
dential plan," supplemented by the " Howard amendment," and
dependent on the adoption of that by the different States re
cently in rebellion. The abolition of slavery by constitutional
provision, the abjuration of the right of secession, and the
repudiation of the Confederate state-debts were the conditions
precedent. Of course the future status of the freedmen was
a question of overwhelming interest, though that was left J
entirely to the decision of the various States.

It was for the discussion of questions thus arising that the
meeting we have now in hand was called.

* Andrew Johnson.

50 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

The great subject of contention between the opposing fac
tions was as to whether the recently freed people ought to be
allowed to testify in courts of justice.

'•What!" said one of the speakers, "allow a nigger to
testify! allow him to swear away your rights and mine!
Never ! AVe have been outraged and insulted ! Our best
men have been put under a ban ; but we have not got so low
as to submit to that yet. Our rights are too sacred to be put
at the mercy of nigger perjurers ! "

This sentiment seemed to meet with very general indorse
ment from the assembled suffragans, and more than one burst,
of applause greeted the speech of which it was a part.

When the meeting seemed to be drawing to a close, and
Servosse was considering the question of going -home, he was
surprised at hearing from the rude stand the voice of this
same orator addressing the assemblage for a second time, and
evidently making allusion to himself.

"Mr. Chairman," he said, "I see there is a man on the
ground who has lately come among us from one of the North
ern States, who has been here all day listening to what we
have said, whether as a spy or a citizen I do not know. It is
currently reported that he 'has been sent down here by some
body of men at the North to assist in overturning our institu
tions, and putting the bottom rail on top. I understand that
he is in favor of social equality, nigger witnesses, nigger juries,
and nigger voters. I don't know these things, but just hear
them; and it may be that I am doing him injustice. I hope I
am, and, if so, that an opportunity will now be given for him
to come forward and deny them. If he has come among us as
a bona-f.de citizen, having the interest of our people at heart,
now is a good time for him to let it be known. If he has
come to degrade and oppress us, we would like to know what
reason he has for such a course. In any event \ve would all
like to hear from Colonel Servosse ; and I move that he be
invited to address this meeting."

Had a bombshell fallen at the Fool's feet, it could not have
amazed him more. He saw the purpose at once. Vaughn and

A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET. 51

several others, whom he had reason to suppose had no kindly
feelings for him, were evidently the instigators of this speech.
They were gathering around the orator; and no sooner had he
ceased speaking than they began to shout, " Servosse ! Servosse !
Servosse ! "

The chairman rose, and said something amid the din. Only
a few words reached the ears of Servosse : —

"Moved 'nd sec'n'd — Servosse — 'dress — meeting. Those
in favor — aye." There was a storm of ayes. "Opposed —
no." Dead silence ; and then a period of quiet, with only an
occasional yell for " Servosse " from the party of malignants
on the right of the stand.

Servosse shook his head to the chairman; but the shouts
were redoubled, and there was a closing in of the crowd, who
were evidently very curious as to the result of this call.

" Bring him on ! " shouted Vaughn to those who stood
around. " Bring him on ! Let's hear from him ! We haven't
heard a speech from a Yankee in a long time."

" Servosse ! Servosse ! Servosse ! " shouted the crowd. Those
who stood about him began to crowd him towards the platform
in spite of his protests. They were perfectly respectful and
good-humored; but they were evidently determined to have
a speech from their new neighbor, or else some fun at his
expense.

" Oh, bring him along ! " cried Vaughn from, the stand.
" Don't keep him all to yourselves, gentlemen. We can't hear
a word here. Give us a chance ! "

This sally was greeted with a shout ; and Servosse, still ex
postulating and excusing himself, was picked up by a dozen
strong arms, carried along between the rows of seats, — rough
pine boards laid upon logs, — and hoisted upon the platform,
amid a roar of laughter.

" We've got him now," he heard Vaughn say to his clique.
" He's got to make a speech, and then Colonel Johnson can
just give him hell "

There was another cry of " Speech ! speech ! speech ! "

Then the chairman called for order ; and there was silence,

52 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

save here and there a dropping word of encouragement real or
mock, — " Speech 1 Go on ! Give it to 'em, Yank ! " &c.

Servosse had noticed that the crowd were not all of one
mind. It was true that there was an apparent unanimity,
because those who dissented from the views which had been
expressed were silent, and did not show their dissent by any
remarks or clamor. He knew the county was one which had
been termed a " Union county " when the war began ; and there
was still a considerable element whose inclinations were against
the Rebellion, and who only looked back at it as an unmitigated
evil. They had suffered severely in one form and. another by
its continuance and results, and smarted over the sort of com
pulsive trickery by which the nation was forced into the con
flict. He had marked all these things as the meeting had
progressed; and now that those whom he recognized as his
enemies had succeeded in putting him in this position, he
determined to face the music, and not allow them to gain any
advantage if he could help it.

He shook himself together, therefore, and said good-natured-

frr-

" Well, gentlemen, I have heard that —

* One man may lead the pony to the brink,
But twenty thousand can not make him drink ! '

So, while you have shown yourselves able to pick me up,
and put me on the platform, I defy you to elicit a speech,
unless you'll make one for me. However, I am very much
obliged to you for putting me up here, as those rough boards
without backs were getting very hard, and I shall no doubt be
much more comfortable in this chair."

Whereupon he took a seat which stood by the table near the
chairman, and coolly sat down. The self-possession displayed
by this movement struck the crowd favorably, and was greeted
by cheers, laughter, and cries of " Good ! " " That's so ! " and
other tokens of admiration. If it had been the purpose of
those who had started the cry to press him to an impromptu
speech before a crowd already excited by a discussion they

A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET. 53

knew to have been in direct conflict with the views he must
reasonably entertain, in order that he might meet a rebuff, he
was in a fair way to disappoint them. Instead of making an
exasperating speech or an enjoyable failure, he had simply
refused to be drawn into the net spread for him by coolly
asserting his right to speak or keep silence as he chose. And
the crowd unmistakably approved.

The chairman, an old gentleman of courtly manner, whose
very appearance was a guaranty of his character, urbanity,
and moderation, evidently felt that the new-comer had been
treated with rudeness, and that he had been made the unwilling
instrument of a malicious insult. It was apparent that the
stranger so regarded it, and the chairman could not rest under
the imputation of such impropriety. So he rose, and, addressing
himself to the occupant of the other chair, said courteously, —

"I have not the honor of your acquaintance, sir; but I
presume 'you are the gentleman who has been called Colonel
Servosse."

The latter bowed affirmatively.

" I assure you, sir, I am happy to know you, having heard so
much to your credit that I have promised myself great pleas
ure in your acquaintance."

Servosse blushed like a boy; for there is no class whose ]
flattery is so overwhelming as that to which the chairman I
belonged, it being united in them with a dignity of manner I
which gives peculiar force to the lightest remark.

" I am sure, sir," the chairman continued, " nothing could
afford me greater happiness than to hear your views in regard
to our duty as citizens of a common country at this peculiarly
trying period in our history ; and I am confident that such is
the earnest wish of this assemblage. [Cries of " Yes, yes ! "]
The manner in which you have been invited may seem to you
somewhat rude, and was certainly inexcusable, considering the
fact that you are a stranger. I hope, however, that it will not
have the effect of preventing us from hearing your views. Seen
from your stand-point, it is to be expected that present events
wil/ bear a different interpretation to what they have when

54 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

viewed from ours ; but we have met as neighbors, and it is to
be hoped that an interchange of views will do us good. I
hope, therefore, that you will permit me to introduce you to
this audience, and that you will make some remarks, if for
nothing else, to show that you bear no ill will for our unin
tended rudeness."

Cries of " Servosse ! Servosse ! Colonel Servosse ! "

There was no possible answer to an apology and a request so

deftly framed as this, except compliance. Servosse perceived

this, and, rising, gave his hand to the chairman, and was by him

formally introduced to the audience. The crowd gathered

around the stand in expectant curiosity ; and a little group of

colored men who had hung on the outskirts of the audience all

day, as if doubtful of their right to be present, edged one by

one nearer to the speaker's platform. The short terse sentences

of the new-comer were in very marked contrast to the florid

^and somewhat labored style of those who had preceded him.

fit was the earnest practicality and abundant vitality of the

j North- West, compared with the impracticality and disputatious

, dogmatism of the South.

CHAPTER XII.

COMPELLED TO VOLUNTEER.

"GENTLEMEN," said he, "I did not come here to make a
speech. I am neither a speech-maker nor a politician. Never
made a political speech in my life, and certainly am not pre
pared to make a beginning to-day. I have bought a home
among you, and cast my lot in with you in good faith, for good
or for ill. Whether I have acted wisely, or have run on a
fool's errand in so doing, is for the future to reveal. I must
say, from what I have heard, and heard applauded to the echo,
here to-day, I am inclined to think the latter will prove the

COMPELLED TO VOLUNTEER. 55

true hypothesis. Your chairman has intimated that my opin
ions may differ from yours ; and, as this fact seems to be appar
ent to all, it is probably best, in order that we should part good
friends, that I should not tell you what my views are."

Cries of " Yes, yes ! Go on ! "

" Well, then, if you don't like my notions, remember that
you would insist on my giving them. As I said, I am no poli
tician, and never expect to be. I hope I have common sense,
though, and I shall try to know something of what is going on
in the world while I am in it. I don't want to discuss what has
been done, nor who did it. I want to say one thing, however,
about the immediate future. I have heard a good deal to-day
about what the South wants, and must have ; what you will do,
and what you will not do. I think you have two simple ques
tions to answer : First, What can you do ? And, second,
What will you do? There has been much discussion here to
day in regard to freedmen being allowed to testify in courts,
the repudiation of the war-debt of these States, and one or two
other kindred questions. Allow me tp say that I think you are
wasting your time in considering such matters. They are de
cided already. There may seem injustice in it; but the war-
debt of these States can never be paid. Neither can the freed-
man be left without the privilege of testifying in his own right.
It makes no difference whether you accept the terms now
offered or not, in this respect — yes, it may make this differ
ence : it is usually better to meet an unpleasant necessity half
way, than wait till it forces itself on you.

" The logic of events has settled these things. The war-debt
became worthless as paper when Lee surrendered, and nothing
can revive it. The taint of illegal consideration attaches to it,
and always will. So, too, in regard to the colored man being
allowed to testify. This is settled. He was allowed to testify
on the battle-field, and will be allowed to testify in courts of
justice. When he took the oath of service, he acquired the
right to take the oath of the witness. These, I say, are already
facts.

" The practical question for you to consider is, How far and

y 56 A FOODS ERRAND.

how fast shall the freedmen be enfranchised? You have to
day assented to the assertion repeatedly made, that the South
would never submit to ' nigger suffrage.' But again I say, the
South has nothing to do with that question either. The war
settled that also."

" We will have another four years of it before we will sub
mit," interrupted Vaughn in great excitement. There was
an approving murmur from a good portion of the audience
at this interruption. The speaker did not seem at all discon
certed, but, turning to Vaughn, said, —

" I hope not, Colonel. I've had enough ; but, if you will have
it, lend me your crutches, and let me join the cripple brigade
this time, won't you ? "

The roar of laughter which followed interrupted the speaker
for several minutes, and left Vaughn the picture of amazement.
That the stranger should venture upon such a retort as that to
a Southern gentleman wTas quite beyond his comprehension.

"As I said," continued the Fool, "with the general question
of colored suffrage you have nothing to do. It is a fact accom
plished. It is not yet recorded in the statute-books ; but it is
in the book of fate. This question, however, you have still in
your hands : Shall negro suffrage be established all at once, or
gradually? If you of your own volition will enfranchise a
part of them, marked by some definite classification, — of intel
ligence, property, or what not, — and the others as they reach
; that development, it will suffice at this time. Wait, hesitate,
refuse, and all will be enfranchised at the same time by the
General Government. You say it will be a great evil. Then
you ought to lighten it as much as possible. If you will give
the elective franchise to every colored man who owns a hun
dred dollars' worth of real estate, and every one who can read
and write, the nation will be satisfied. Refuse, and all will
me enfranchised without regard to your wishes or your fears.

"I have told you, not what I think ought to be, but what I
believe is, the fact of the present situation. I can see that
you do not all agree wdth me, perhaps none of you ; but it
•will stand thinking over. Don't forget what I tell you, and,

A TWO-HANDED GAME. 57

if you dislike my remarks, remember that you forced me to
say what I have said, as well by your own urgent importunity
as by the kindly compulsion of your chairman."

There was a dull, surprised silence when he had concluded.
The very audacity of his speech seemed to have taken away
all power, if not all inclination, to reply. Some of his audi
ence regarded him with sullen, scowling amazement, and others
just with dull wonder that any one should have the hardihood
to make such a statement. A few seemed to regard him not
unkindly, but made no manifestation of approval. The chair
man rose, and stated that the views of the speaker were some
what startling and entirely new, he presumed, to the audience,
as they were to him. As Colonel Servosse said, they would
stand thinking about ; and on behalf of the audience he re
turned to Colonel Servosse their thanks for an exceedingly
frank and clear statement of his views. If there was no
farther business, the meeting would stand adjourned.

Thereupon the crowd separated ; and, after a few moments'
Conversation with the chairman and one or two others, the Fool
mounted his horse, and took his way homeward.

CHAPTER XIII.

A TWO-HANDED GAME.

HE had not proceeded far, when, in descending a hill towards
a little branch, he overtook two men, who were evidently saun
tering along the road, and waiting for some one to corne up
with them. He recognized them as men whom he had seen
at the meeting. When he came up with them, they greeted
him pleasantly, but with something like constraint in their
manner. It was nearly sundown; and one of them, glancing
at the west, remarked, —

" Goin' back to Warrin'ton to-night, Colonel ? "

58 A FOOrS ERRAND.

" Yes," was the reply. " It's just a pleasant hour's ride."

" It'll be right dark afore ye git there," said his interrogator
cautiously.

" A little moonlight will make it all the pleasanter," he
laughed.

" Ef ye'll take pore folks' fare," said the other man some
what anxiously, " you're welcome to supper and a bed at my
house. It's right near by," he continued, " not more'n a mile
off your road at the farthest. You might ride by, and stay tu
supper anyhow. 'Twouldn't hinder long, an' we'd be right
glad tu chat with ye a bit."

"No, thank you," he replied: "my wife will be looking for
me, and would be alarmed if I did not get home by dark,
or a little after. Good-evening ! "

He was about to spur on, when one of the men cried after
him in their peculiar way, —

" 0 stranger! wait a minit. Don't stop, but jest walk along
as if we was only passin' the time o' day. I don't want tu
'larm ye ; but it's my notion it would be jest as well fer ye not
to go home by the direct road, arter makin' that speech ye did
to-day."

" Why not ? "

" Wai, ye see, there was a crowd of rough fellers thar that
was powerful mad at what ye said about the nigger, though
I be cussed ef I don't believe it's gospel truth, every word on't,
myself. Plowever, they're mad about it; an' thar's a parcel
of towns-folks hez been eggin' 'em on tu stop ye somewhar on
the road home, an' they may make ye trouble. I don't think
they mean tu hurt ye ; but then ther's no tellin' what such
a crowd '11 do."

" You say they intend to waylay me ? " asked Servosse.

" Wai, no ! we didn't say that : did we, Bill V " appealing to
his comrade. " But we thought they mout stop ye, and treat
ye rough, ye know."

" So you think they'll stop me. Where do you think they'll
do it ? " he asked.

" Oh, we don't know it ! Mind ye, we don't say so ; but they

A TWO-HANDED GAME. 59

mout, an', ef they did, 'twould ez likely ez not be somewhar
about the ford."

"All right, my friends. When I'm stopped, it will be a
queer thing if some one's not hurt."

" Better stop with us now," said his new friends anxiously,
"an' not git into trouble when ye can jest ez well go round it."

"No, thank you," he answered: "I'm going home; and no
one will stop me either."

He spurred on, but had gone only a short distance, when a
pebble fell in the road in front of him, and then another, evi
dently thrown from the bushes on his right. He drew rein,
and was about to take a pistol from his belt, when he heard
some one, evidently a colored man, say, —

"O Mars' Runnel ! don't shoot! " And at the same time he
saw a black face, surrounded by gray hair and whiskers,
peering out from behind a bush. " Jes' you git down off'n yer
hoss, an' Btan' h'yer one minit while I tells ye sumfin'."

" What do you want ? " he asked impatiently. " It's getting
towards sundown, and I don't want to be late home.

"Dar! jes' h'yer him now !" said the colored man reproach
fully. " Ez ef ole Jerry ebber wanted tu keep him 'way from
home!"

" Well, what is it, Jerry ? Be in a hurry ! " said Servosse, as
he dismounted, and led his horse into the dense undergrowth
where the man was. It was without misgiving that he did so.
He did not know the man, and had never seen him before,
except, as he thought, at the meeting that day. He had been
warned of danger; but such was his confidence in the good
will of every colored man, that he left the highway, and came
into the thicket to meet him, without fear. The confidence
which his service as a Federal soldier had inspired in the good
faith, trustworthiness, and caution of the colored man, had not
yet departed.

" Dey's waitin' fer ye, Mars' Kunnel," said the man almost
in a whisper, as soon as he came near. "I'd sot down to rest
my lame leg in de bushes jes' a little while ago, an' they come
'long, an' stopped nigh 'bout where I was ; an' I heard 'em lay

60 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

de whole plan, — tu stop ye down by de fo'd, an' tie ye out
into de woods, an' give ye a whippin' fur de speech ye made
to-day."

The man came from behind his bush, and Servosse saw that
he was strangely deformed, or rather crippled from disease.
He walked almost bent double, supported by two staves, but
'had yet a very bright, intelligent countenance. He remem
bered then having seen him before. His name was Jerry
Hunt, and he lived on a plantation adjoining Warrington.

" How did you come to be so far from home, Jerry ? " he
asked in surprise.

"Went to h'yer de speakin', sah. Can't tell what fer.
Tought de Lor' hed sumfin' fer old Jerry tu du out h'yer ; so
started 'arly, an' come. I knowed de Lor' sent me, but didn't
know what fer till I heerd 'em a-fixin' it up tu git ye, mars'
Kunnel. Den I kuowed, 'cause yu'se our fren' : / knows dat."

Then he told how, as he was lying in the bushes to rest, six
men came along; and he heard them arrange to waylay Colo
nel Servosse, "an5 war' him out wid hick'ries. Dey said dey
wa'n't gwine to hurt him, but jes' tu let him know dat he
couldn't make sech infamous speeches as dat in dis region
widout gettin' his back striped, — dat's all."

" And where are they to be, Uncle Jerry? "

"Jes' on dis side de fo'd, sah, — jes' as ye goes down de hill
in de deep cut."

" But how are they to know which road I take ? The road
forks three miles before I come to the creek, and I can as well
take one as the other."

" Yes, sah ! " said Uncle Jerry. " Dey tought o' dat : so dey's
gwine to leabe one man at de fawks wid a good hoss to come
down whichever road you don't take, an' gib 'em warnin',
leastwise ef you takes de upper road, which dey don't 'spect,
cos you come de lower one. Dey's gwine to put a grape-vine
cross de cut to catch yer hoss."

" And who stops at the forks? "

" Mars' Savage, sah."

" What horse is he riding ? "

A TWO-HANDED GAME. 61

" He'll not hev any at de cawner, but will claim to be wait-
in' for Mars' Vaughn's carryall to come ; but de gray filly's hid
in de bushes."

" All right, Jerry. I'm much obliged. If I don't take care
of myself now, it's my own fault. Good-night ! "

" God bless you, sah ! "

Servosse rode on, revolving in his mind a plan by which he
should discomfit his enemies. To evade them after such
warning was a matter of no difficulty whatever ; but he was
too angry to wish to do this. The idea that he should be way
laid upon the public highway, and maltreated, because, after
their own urgency, he had spoken his opinion frankly and
plainly about a public matter, was more than he could endure.
He determined to do something more than escape the threat
ened attack, and give the parties to understand that he was
not to be trifled with.

On arriving at the forks of the road, he found Savage in
waiting, as he had been told, and, after some little chat with
him, started on the upper road. Savage called to him, and
assured him that the lower road was much better, and a nearer
way to Warrington.

"Well," was the reply, "my horse has chosen this, and I
always let him have his own way when we are going toward
home."

The horse of which he spoke was a bay Messenger, which he
had captured in battle, and afterwards ridden for nearly two
years in the service. In speed, endurance, and sagacity the
horse had few equals even among that famous stock. Hoof,
limb, and wind were sound; and his spirit did honor to his
illustrious parentage. Upon his steadiness and capacity his
rider could count with the utmost certainty. Horse and man
were well mated, each understanding with exactness the temper
and habits of the other.

" Now, Lollard," he said, as soon as he was well hidden from
the place where Savage was posted, "make the old 'Taber
nacle Church ' in the best time you can, and see if we do not
make these gentlemen repent the attempt to circumvent us."

62 A FOODS ERRAND.

" The Tabernacle " was the name of a church which stood
on the upper road, about two miles from the lower ford, from
which there was a bridle-path through the woods, coming out
on the lower road about half a mile above the ford. To reach
the latter road by this path before Savage should have time
to pass the point of intersection was now the immediate ob
ject.

Lollard covered the ground with mighty stretches, but
evenly and steadily, in a way that showed his staying qualities.
When they reached the church, his rider threw the reins on
his neck, and leaped to the ground. He was well acquainted
with every bush around the church, having frequently attended
meeting there. After groping around for a few seconds, he
bent over a small hickory, and cut it off with his knife. It
made a goad about six feet long, and perhaps an inch and a
half in diameter in the heaviest part. He trimmed off a few
shoots, and then laid the top on the ground, and held it with
his foot while he gave the butt a few turns, deftly twisting the
fiber so that it would not snap from any sudden blow. This
done, he had a weapon which in the hands of an expert might
well be deemed formidable. He had a revolver in his belt ;
but this he determined not to use.

Mounting again, he dashed down the bridle-path until he
came to the lower road. A little clump of pines stood in the
angle made by this path and the road ; and on the soft sward
behind this he stopped, and, leaning forward, stroked his horse's
face to prevent him from neighing upon the approach of the
expected horseman. He had waited but a few moments when
he heard Savage coming at a brisk gallop on his gray filly.
The moon had now risen ; and between the straggling pine-tops
he caught occasional glimpses of the rider as he came along
the stretch of white road, now distinctly seen in the moonlight,
and now half hidden by the shadow. Holding his horse hard
until the other had passed the opening of the path, he gave the
gallant bay the spur, and in half a dozen bounds was on the
filly's quarter. The long, lithe hickory hissed through the air,
and again and again lashed across the mare's haunches. Stung

A TWO-HANDED GAME. 63

with pain, and mad with fright, she bounded forward, and for a
moment was beyond reach ; while her rider, scarce less amazed
than his horse at the unexpected onset, lost his self-control,
and added unintentionally the prick of the spur to her incen
tives for flight. It was but a moment's respite, however ; for
the powerful horse was in an instant again at her side, and
again and again the strong arm of his rider sent the tough
hickory cutting through her hide or over the shoulders of her
rider. Half-way to the cut in the road this race of pursuer
and pursued kept up. Then Servosse with sudden effort drew
in the bay, and subdued his excitement ; and, taking the shady
side of the road, he advanced at an easy gait to observe the
result of his artifice. Meantime the party at the cut, hearing
the swift clatter of horses' feet, concluded that the man for
whom they were waiting had been warned of the ambush, and
was pushing forward to avoid being stopped by them in the
woods.

"By heavens! " said one, "it will kill him. Let's undo the
grape-vine." And he sprang forward, knife in hand, to cut it
loose.

" No," said another : " if he chooses to break his neck, it's
none of our business."

" Yes," said a third : " let it alone, Sam. It's the easiest
way to get rid of him."

An opening in the wood allowed the rising full moon to
shine clear upon the upper part of the cut. Faster and faster
came the footstrokes of the maddened filly, — nearer and nearer
to the ambuscade which the rider's friends had laid for another.
Her terrified rider, knowing the fate that was before him, had
tried in vain to stop her, had broken his rein in so doing, and
now clung in abject terror to the saddle.

" Good God ! how he rides ! " said one.

"Heavens! men, it will be murder !" cried another; and as
by common impulse they sprang forward to cut the rope. It
was too late. Just as the hand of the foremost touched the
tough vine-rope, the gray filly bounded into the spot of clear
moonlight at the head of the cut ; and the pale face of their
comrade, distorted with terror, flashed upon their sight.

ERRAND.

"My God!" they all cried out together, "it's Tom Sa
vage ! "

The inare's knees struck the taut vine. There was a crash,
a groan; and Tom Savage and his beautiful young rnare
were lying at the bottom of the rocky cut, crushed and broken,
while on the bank stood his comrades, pallid and trembling
with horror.

It needed not a moment's reflection to show even to their
half-drunken minds what had been the result of their cowardly
plan ; and, smitten with the sudden consciousness of blood-
guiltiness, they turned and fled without waiting to verify their
apprehension by an investigation of the quivering wreck of
mangled flesh upon the rocks below. Hastily mounting their
horses, which were picketed near, they dashed through the ford ;
and he against whom this evil had been devised heard the
sharp clatter of their horses' hoofs as they galloped up the
rocky hill beyond. Then he dismounted, and went cautiously
forward to the edge of the cut. A moment of listening told
him there was none there except the man whom he had lashed
on to his fate. His heart beat fast with sickening fear as he
glanced at the mangled form below. A low groan fell upon
his ear. He clambered down the steep side of the cut, and
groped about in the shadow until he found the body of the
man. He struck a match, and found that he was still living,
though insensible.

At this moment he heard the sound of a rumbling vehicle on
the road above.

"Dis way, boys! dis way!" cried the voice of old Jerry.
" 'Twas right here dey was gwine to stop de Kunnel."

There were hasty footsteps, and a rattling one-horse cart drove
into the moonlight with the white-framed face of old Jerry
peering over the dashboard ; while a half-dozen more colored
men, each armed with a stout club, rode with him, or ran be
side it.

" Stop ! " cried a voice from below.

" Bress de Lor' ! " shouted Jerry. " Dat's de Runnel's voice.
Dey hain't killed him yit. Hurry on, boys ! hurry on ! "

MURDER MOST FOUL. 65

He scrambled from the cart, unmindful of his decrepitude,
and in an instant willing hands were helping the " Kunnel "
bear something limp and bleeding towards the light. Then
one brought water in his hat, and another gathered something
to make a blaze for closer examination of the body of Sav
age. Fortunately he had slipped from the saddle when his
mare struck the rope, and before she took her final plunge upon
the rocks where she now lay crushed and dying. He had been
dashed against the clayey bank, and was battered and bleed
ing, but still alive. He was put carefully in the cart, and car
ried on to Warrington.

" Jes' arter ye passed me, Kunnel, the cart corned on, an' I
tole 'em what was up, an 'got 'em to drive on peart-like, so that
we might help ye ef ther was any need on't, which, bress de
Lor'! dey wa'n't," was uncle Jerry's explanation of their un
expected appearance.

CHAPTER XIV.

MURDER MOST FOUL.

THE next day there was a great stir over the horse of Sav
age, which was found dead at the foot of the cut. The grape
vine still remaining attached to a tree on each side of the road
fully explained her condition. Savage himself could not be
found ; and his five companions had all fled, each fearing the
others, and each believing the others had removed and hidden
the body. That a murder had been committed was evident,
every one said; and those who had been privy to the design,
though not engaged in its execution, were hardly at fault to
imagine how it occurred, at least the main features of it; and
the flight of Savage's comrades confirmed them in this belief.
The scheme to entrap the new-comer had evidently failed, and
a greater evil than had been intended him had befallen one of
the conspirators. Strangely enough no one associated Servosse

66 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

in any way with this result. Public justice, however, and the
safety of those who were thought to be the real though unin
tentional murderers, required that some one should be pun
ished. A scape-goat was absolutely necessary to insure the
peace and safety both of those who had fled and those who
remained, as well as to satisfy the natural demands of public
justice.

So three colored men were arrested on suspicion, and, after
being maltreated and threatened to induce them to confess,
were haled before Justice Hyman for examination. With
hands bound with tightly knotted cords before their breasts,
and elbows tied behind their backs, they were led each one by
a man on horseback — a great crowd attending, all armed —
along the big road which led by Warrington to the house of
Squire Hyman. Old Jerry came to inform "de Kunnel " of
the arrest. He immediately mounted his horse, and rode over
to attend the examination.

The court was held in the grove before the squire's house,
the magistrate sitting by a table in his shirt-sleeves, and smok
ing a long reed-stemmed pipe, the bowl of which was of that
noted clay which the smokers of the Allegany slopes declare to
be little inferior to the meerschaum, and which the connoisseur
who looks for a " sweet smoke," rather than a highly colored
bowl, will be apt to prefer even to that vaunted article.

The prisoners were charged with the murder of Thomas
Savage. They had been arrested without a warrant, such
formality not being considered important, as they were " only
niggers." The gravity of the offence charged would have justi
fied an arrest without a warrant ; but no one thought of putting
it on that ground. One was now filled out, however; affidavit
being made by the eveixready Colonel Vaughn, that he had rea
sonable ground to believe, and did believe, that the defendants,
and and , being malicious and evil-disposed per
sons, moved and seduced by the instigation of the Devil, at and

in the county of , one Thomas Savage, in the peace of

God and the State then and there being, did kill and murder,
contrary to the form of the statute, in such cases made and

MURDER MOST FOUL. 67

provided, by tying a grape-vine across the cut on the west side
of Gray's Ford on Reedy Run in said county.

The constable made return thereon that he had the bodies of
the accused before the court, and the examination proceeded.

The county-attorney, who had been sent for in hot haste to
conduct the trial, arrived just as these formalities were con
cluded, and, after a brief consultation with Colonel Vaughn
and one or two others, announced his readiness to proceed, and
stated what he expected to prove at some length and with
considerable vehemence of expression ; after which he pro
ceeded to introduce his evidence. This consisted of proof of
the finding of the mare, evidently killed by her fall upon the
rocks, the grape-vine drawn tightly across the road, the hat of
Savage found in the cut, and traces of blood along the track
in the same. These facts, he claimed, sufficiently established
the death, without the production of the corpus delicti, — suffi
ciently, at least, to justify a binding over. He had no doubt
but that the body would be found.

To connect the accused men with the crime, he relied upon
the fact that they had reason to harbor malice towards the
supposed defunct, having had, each of them, some difficulty
with him a short time previous to the event. In addition to
that, certain tracks were found about the ford in the moist
earth, which must have been made by colored men ; and those*
tracks were about the size and general appearance of those 01
the accused.

When the evidence was concluded, the magistrate remarked
that he would haye to commit the prisoners ; and there was
a murmur ran through the crowd to the effect that a better
and cheaper way would be to string them up to a tree.

\"If you send them to jail," said one., "the damned Bureau)
vill turn them out ! "

Then Servosse quietly stepped forward, and inquired if the
prisoners had not a right to be heard and to introduce testi
mony in their own behalf.

A look of blank amazement, not unmixed with righteous
indignation, ran through the crowd at this proposal. The

68 A FOOUS ERRAND.

magistrate said he supposed they had, — that is, if they had
any testimony to offer.

Thereupon Servosse said he would be sworn, and, being
asked what he knew about the killing of Thomas Savage by
the accused, said he knew they did not kill him.

" Do you know this of your own personal knowledge, Colo
nel ? " asked Justice Hyman.

"I do, sir."

" Will you please tell the court how you know this fact ? "
asked the county-attorney.

" Because, sir, Mr. Thomas Savage, the man supposed to
be dead, is at this moment alive, and at my house."

Had a clap of thunder burst from the clear sky above the
crowd, their surprise could not have been greater.

At length the county-attorney broke into a laugh, and,
extending his hand to the witness, said, —

" Well, sir, you bring us very good news. What is his con
dition ? "

"He is very much injured; but you had better ask him in
regard to the cause of it. He will be able to tell you soon, or,
if necessary, might do it now. I prefer not to say any thing
about it myself, — at least, not unless in his presence. One
thing I can say, however : these men you have under arrest had
nothing to do with the accident which befell him."

" All right ! " said the attorney. " We may as well discharge
them, your worship. I am much obliged to you, Colonel, but
wish you had told me before this farce begun. I believe you
did it just to see me make a fool of myself."

"Not at all, sir," was the reply. "I never dreamed of a
lawyer consenting to a conviction for murder without proof of
the fact of death.

" Sh — !" said the attorney; then, putting his hand to his
mouth, and leaning forward close to the ear of his interlocutor,
he said in a whisper, —

" Don't you see this, Colonel ? What would have become of
the poor devils if they had been turned loose on this charge
before your testimony V " He glanced around, and then said
aloud very significantly, —

MURDER MOST FOUL. 69 u-

" ' There needs no ghost come from the dead to tell us that,
my lord.' Eh?"

Then the squire wanted them all to take a little brandy with
him. A decanter with glasses, and a sugar-bowl with a half-
dozen spoons bristling from its mouth, were set on the table,
and the whole crowd were invited to partake. A bucket of
water and a gourd were brought, and each one helped himself
to the apple-jack, sugar, and water. The late prisoners were not
forgotten. When they had been unbound, the justice himself
poured out a stiff dram for each, and congratulated them on
their escape. The change from seemingly savage cruelty to~7
sympathy and good will was instantaneous, and to Servosse I
inexplicable.

The sullen stoical apathy which had marked the defendants
during the previous proceedings had been changed into pro
found astonishment by the introduction of "dat ar Yankee
kunnel." They had listened with dilated eyes to his brief
testimony, and when their cords were cut they had no memory
of previous ill treatment in the joy of unexpected deliverance.
So when the squire offered them a dram, and congratulated
them in kind words on their release, each one tossed off his
glass of apple-brandy with a grin and a shuffle, and a hearty, ^'
" Here's luck to ye, Mars' ! "

The only unpleasant tiling about it was that the wife of one
of them who came rushing upon the ground at this time with
loud cries of grief, upon being hastily informed of the facts,
would persist in throwing herself upon her knees before the
Fool, and thanking him in the name of her helpless babes for
saving their father from being hanged without law or justice,
" jfis' because he was a nigger."

"The pore critter don't know any better," as the squire
informed the Fool apologetically.

To which remark the Fool replied, —

" Evidently not." A reply which left the good justice in
grave doubt as to what was intended by it.

Mr. Thomas Savage remained at Warrington until his
bruises were healed. A great many of his friends came to see

70 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

him, and were very anxious as to the cause of his injuries.
He said but little while under the roof of his new neighbor,
but after he left made no secret of the matter, and strangely
enough was thenceforward the stanchest of friends to Ser-
vosse and his family.

CHAPTER XV.

"WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?"

ONE day their neighbor, shortly after the events narrated in
the last chapter, Squire Ilyman, came over, ostensibly to see
Mr. Savage, but really, as Mrs. Servosse thought, to renew his
intimacy with them, which he broke off in a miff the year
before, because they would invite the teachers of the colored
schools to visit them. He seemed rather shy at first; and
Mr. Savage was absent, so that his excuse did not hold good.
As Colonel Servosse was away, Metta thought she should have
a hard time to bridge over his discomfiture. lie evidently
remembered the last time he was there, and knew that she
had not forgotten it. However, as it happened, she had
one of the new novels of Victor Hugo upon her work-
table; and knowing him to be a somewhat bookish man in
his queer, rough way, having heard her husband say that he
had read a great deal, and had quaint and original views in
regard to what he read, she called the book to 'his attention,
and soon had him sitting via a vis with her; his great stick and
hat lying by him on the floor, and his long-stemmed pipe in
his mouth, but hardly ever burning, though he lighted it every
few minutes. Of course he did not smoke in her sitting-
room without her leave, nor even did he presume to ask such
leave ; but, knowing what the old man's pipe must be to him
by the pertinacity with which he carried it about, she insisted
on his lighting it. It was but a short time before he was dis
coursing familiarly on books and events in a manner so quaint
that she was well repaid.

"WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 71

"Victor Hugo," said he meditatively. "Do you know, Ma
dam, it seems almost a dream to me the way that name has
become familiar this side the water ? He must be an old man
now, smartly older than I am, ma'am; and he has been a most
prolific writer, I believe, from a very early age. Yet — would
you believe it? — I never saw or read, to my present remembrance
at least, any thing that he had written before the war. And
I don't know anybody who had either. Not that I am any
scholar, ma'am : but we Southern people had a good deal of
time to read in those days ; and, as I had not much education, I
took to reading, so as not to feel behind my associates. I did
not read every thing of course, and didn't have any particular
end in view, I'm sorry to say ; but I read what other folks read
of novels and politics and religious controversies, and whatever
fell in my way. I But I didn't read any of Hugo's works, and
hardly heard on^m, till, some time along the last year of the
war, a neighbor's son came back from the hospital, where he'd
been lyin' sick for a good bit, and loaned me a book he called
'Lee's Miserables.' It was a shallow sort of pun, as I found
out ; but I reckon it was a most earnest one to the poor fellows
in the trenches. Well, it's wonderful the run that book had
here in the South, in spite of the blockade ; and I was not a
bit surprised to see it stated the other day that he had almost
as many readers in America as at home. He's the most Ameri
can Frenchman I ever read after."

Then he would dip into the new book for a while, or read
aloud some little passage which struck him, until he had
mastered the period treated of and the general drift of the
book. He bespoke its loan as soon as she had finished it, but
could not be induced to take it before.

After a time he asked to look into the book-case, and was
soon engrossed in making new, and renewing old friends, as he
said. There were some works which Servosse had put on an
upper shelf, lest they should attract any one's attention, and
be thought to have been displayed with any intent to offend.
They were works upon slavery and kindred subjects.

She noticed that the old man was peculiarly attracted to this

72 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

shelf. He seemed very soon to have forgotten all about Victor
Hugo, and he presently asked if he might borrow some of
these volumes. She hUrdly knew what to tell him. She did
want to ask him to wait until Comfort came ; for it seemed so
absurd, in what was called a free and Christian land, to hesitate
as to whether it would be safe to lend a simple book. He
noticed her hesitation, and said, —

" I have a curiosity to read them. I have heard so much
about them, and never saw them before. You may not be
aware, madam, that they were regarded as 'seditious publica
tions' before the war; so that one could only get to read them
at considerable risk and trouble. This I never cared to take;
but now that it is all over, and the doctrines of these books
have come to prevail, I would like to read the books just to see
what hurt us."

She remarked that her husband had put them on the top
shelf in order that he might not seem either to obtrude them
upon his neighbors' notice, or to deny their possession by con
cealment.

" No, he has no cause for that now," said he ; " though I re
member when a man was tried and convicted, and sentence of
whipping and imprisonment passed on him too, just for having
one of those in his possession."

" I did not know," she said, " that the law actually made it
criminal, or, rather, I supposed it was never enforced."

" Oh, yes ! it was," he answered. " The case I allude to was
Mr. Wanzer, who belonged to a very well-known family here
in the county, though he had just come in from Indiana, which
was the way he come to have the book about him. There was
a big trial and a powerful excitement over it. lie was very
ably defended, and his lawyers took a heap of points on the law,
which it was thought might be declared unconstitutional. But
'twasn't no manner of use. The Supreme Court stood by the
law in every particular."

"I thought it was only mobs that interfered with people for
reading what they chose," said she; " at least since the good old
days when they used to burn people for reading the Bible."

"WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 73

" Well," said he, " there used to be mobs about it too : at
least we used to get very much excited at the idea of people
bringing what were called 'abolition' books here, to stir up
our slaves to insurrection ; and probably did some things that
had as well not have been done."

" But how could you, Squire ? " she asked. " This claimed to
be a free country ; and how could you think you had any right
to persecute one for reading, writing, or saying what he be
lieved ? I suppose in those days you would have hung my
husband for expressing his opinions? "

"In those days," said he solemnly, " Colonel Servosse would
never have expressed such opinions. I admit that he is a
brave man; but no one would any more have uttered such senti
ments as he puts out now than he would have carried a torch
into a powder-magazine. The danger was so apparent, that no
one could be found fool-hardy enough to attempt it. 1 think
such a one would have been torn limb from limb, as by a wild
beast, by any crowd in the South."

"But you could not have thought that right, Squire," she
interposed.

" Well, now, I don't think you ought to say that, madam. You
see, you are blaming a whole people whom we are bound to
admit were, in the main, honest in what they did. If any one
believed slavery to be a divinely appointed and ordained insti
tution, I can not see how he could do otherwise."

"If!" she said hotly. "Do you suppose there were any

" Undoubtedly," he answered seriously, — "many thousands
of them, and are to-day. In fact, you may say that the bulk of
the Southern people believed it then, and believe it now. They
regard the abolition of slavery only as a temporary triumph of
fanaticism over divine truth. They do not believe the negro
intended or designed for any other sphere in life. They may
think the relation was abused by bad masters and speculators
and all that, and consequently God permitted its overthrow ;
but they have no idea that he will permit the permanent estab-
\i lishment of any system which does not retain the African in a
subordinate and servile relation."

74 A FOOUS ERRAND.

"But you do not believe any such horrible doctrine, Squire? "
she could not help asking quickly.

" I beg your pardon, ma'am," he answered politely enough :
" I don't know what I believe. I have been a slaveholder from
my youth, and ever since I could remember have heard the
institution of slavery referred to in the pulpit and in religious
conversations, not so much as a thing that might be proved to
be holy, but which was incontestably divine in its origin and
character, just as much as marriage, or any other Christian
.institution. I don't think a minister who had a doubt upon
that subject could have found any market for his religion here.
Until the war was over, I think, if there was any one thing that
I believed stronger and clearer and firmer than another, it was
that niggers were made for slaves ; and cotton, terbacker, sugar
cane, an' rice, were made for them to raise, and could not be
raised in any other way. Now I'm most ready to say that I'll
be dog-goned if I know what I do believe. I know the niggers
are free, and, for all I can see, they are likely to stay so ; but
what's to come on't I don't know."

"My husband," said she, "thinks they will remain so, and
become valuable citizens, and that the Southern people have
actually gained by the war more than emancipation cost them."

"Yes, yes, I know," said he: "I've heard the colonel talk,
and .what he says looks mighty plausible too. I think it's that
has had a heap to do with unsettlin' my faith. However, I do
wish he would be more keerful. He don't seem to realize that
he's among a people who ain't used to his free and easy ways of
talking about every thing. I'm afraid he'll get into trouble.
1 know he means well, but he is so inconsiderate."

" lie's not used to hiding his opinions," she said with some
thing of pride.

"No," he answered; "nor are those he is among used to
having their pet notions assailed in that manner. I'm afraid
there'll be trouble. I was anxious to see him to-day, an' talk
with him about it; but I shall have to come again. Mean
time, if you'll let me take these books, I'll read 'em carefully,
an' perhaps find some way out of my dilemma."

" WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR ?" 75

" Certainly," she said. " We have no books that our neigh
bors are not welcome to read, believe or disbelieve, aocept or
refute, as they may see fit. We practice what we preach,
Squire."

" I believe that, madam," said he, as he stooped for his hat
and stick ; " an' I believe you're very much in earnest, both in
preachin' an' practicin'. Oh ! did I tell you ? " he added sud
denly, " mv son Jesse, he's heard the colonel speak once or
twice, an' he's" clean carried away with him. Says he's got
more sense than anybody he ever heard talk about such mat
ters. He's quite took up that notion you spoke of a while
ago, — that freein' the slaves is the best thing that's ever
happened for the white folks of the South. Maybe he's right,
but it sounds right queer to hear him talk so. He's like you
say, though, — practicin' what he preaches, an' is going in to
work as if he'd been raised to it all his life. It looks hard, and
sounds queer; but maybe he's right. Good-evening, ma'am!
Tell the colonel I'm right sorry he was not at home. I'll come
again when I've read these through," — touching the books
with his pipe, — "an' hope I may catch him then."

Servosse was not quite pleased when his wife told him that
night of what she had done. He had been very careful not* to
give any just ground of offense, as he thought, to their neigh
bors. While he did not hesitate to avow his opinions upon any
question of present interest, he did not think it well to open
the controversies of the past, and had studiously avoided all
reference to them, unless it became necessary in considering
the present. He did not say much, however ; and when, a few
nights afterwards, the Squire came over to return the books,
the Fool was rather glad she had loaned them.

The old man had evidently come for a chat. One could see
that as he laid down his hat and stick, filled his pipe, and drew
up his chair to the corner of the wide fireplace, in which the
dry hickory and black-jack was blazing brightly, and coaxed
their little golden-haired pet to sit beside him.

" Well, Colonel," he said, after he had chatted a while with
the child, "I've brought back the books I borrowed of the
madam the other day."

V 76 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" So I see," laughed Servosse. " Well, I hope you enjoyed
reading them ? "

" That I did, Colonel," he answered, — " more, I suppose,
than you would ever imagine that I could."

"Indeed!" said Servosse. "I was half afraid they would
make you so angry that you would feel like visiting your dis
pleasure on me."

"No, indeed!" said the old man with a sort of chuckle.
" I had no notion of being angry ; though, now I come to think
on't, I can't imagine why I am not. There's certainly hard
things enough in those books about me and my people to make
any man mad. But the truth is, Colonel, it seems to be all
about the past, — what is all over and done with now, — so
that I seem to be reading of somebody else, and some other
time than my own. Do you know, Colonel, that I never read
any ' abolition ' books before, only some of the miMer sort '?
and I am of the notion now, that our folks made a mistake in
keeping them out of the South. I was a little surprised when
the madam here," — waving his hand gallantly towards Metta,
— "asked me if any one really believed in slavery. If it had
been you, I should have asked if any one really believed in
'abolitionism.' But I am satisfied that the people who wrote
those books believed what they were writing ; and it does seem
as if they had good reason to do so. It's a thousand pities we
couldn't have talked these things over, and have come to the
right understanding of them without this terrible war."

" That was quite impossible, Squire," said Servosse. " We
could never have agreed. I have learned enough of the former
state of affairs here already to see that. Each party distrusted
the other's sincerity, and despised the other's knowledge. Wai-
was inevitable: sooner or later it must have come. Why, even
now we can not agree in regard to the incidents flowing from
emancipation, — the mere corollaries of the problem God has
wrought out for us in the blood of our best."
" "That's true, too true," sighed the old man. "And it's
j curious too. It's all common sense at the last. Why can't we
I agree to hunt together until we find it? "
| " It seems to be human nature, Squire."

"WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 77

" That's it, Colonel ; an' when you've said that you've said all>v
We can't go no further, nor learn any more. It's human nature,
and there's no more use of asking questions of human nature
than of an owl. 'What' and 'why' are things that don't
concern human nature. It don't care no more for reason than
a mule does for persuasion. Human nature is a sullen, obsti
nate, unreasonable brute; but it always has its own way with
all on us. Ain't that so, Colonel '? " he asked with a self-appre
ciative chuckle.

"Just so, Squire," replied Servosse. "And almost always
disappointing too. Now, I can not see why the South should
not have seen its own interest to have lain in the way of grad
ual emancipation long ago."

" The very idea I was going to advance as to the North,"
laughed the old man. " I never could make out what interest
they had in the matter at all. Now, the people who wrote
those books I can understand. With them it was a principle,
a religious idea. They thought it was a wrong and a sin
which they would do God's service to exterminate. They are
what we call 'fanatics.' No one can blame them, only for not
crediting us with like sincerity. They might have done that,
I should suppose. They made too much, too, out of the abuses
of slavery. It was abused, — no doubt of that, — and many bad
things done by bad men under cover of it ; but they might
have credited us with honesty, at least. We were not all bad,
nor all cruel and unjust. Some of us thought the master's
relation one of divine duty; and others, who weren't quite so
clear upon that point, or didn't care so much whether it was
true or not, felt that the institution was on our hands, had
come to be there lawfully, and we didn't see how we were to
get rid of it without immense loss and sacrifice. So we just
let it float along. But we were not hard masters, nor cruel
owners. We did feel bound to protect the institution. Not
only our interests, but the safety of society as we honestly
thought, depended on its continuance, unimpaired and per
fect, until something else should take its place, at least. As
long as the nigger was here, we were all satisfied that he must

78 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

be a slave. A good many of us thought it would not be any
injury if they could all be removed somewhere else."

" No doubt you are right," said Servosse. " And it is not
surprising, either, that you should have felt so, or that those
who wrote these books should have misconceived your motive.
PSlavery did two things which naturally prevented such knowl
edge from being obtained : it excluded the stranger from its
I inner sanctuary with rigorous care, and persecuted with un-
1 sparing severity all who rejected its dogmas."

" Yes, yes, I see," laughed the Squire. " You and I are get
ting back to human nature again in our anxiety to excuse our
respective sides. But do you know I have a still greater
reason for being angry, after reading one of those books, on my
own personal, individual account? — I, Nathaniel HymanV"

" No, indeed, I did not," said Servosse. " You are not one of
the characters, are you ? "

" That's exactly what I am," was the reply, " and not cast in
a very enviable role, either. Besides, the worst of it is, that the
author takes pains to write a note about the matter, and tell
everybody who was meant to be represented by the character.
Hadn't you noticed it ? "

" I had no idea of it," said Servosse, flushing. " I have never
read the book since it first came out, and had then no personal
interest in the individual characters."

" No, of course not," assented Hyman ; " though I did think
the madam's hesitation the other day might have sprung from
that. I'd heard of the fact before, and was anxious to see if it
were true. That's why I wanted to read the book."

Metta assured him that she had no knowledge of it, and he
continued, —

" Well. I don't know as I mind it, though one hardly likes
to go down to posterity as one of the black sheep of his day.
The affair of which so much is made was a very trifling matter,
and I had mighty little to do with it, at best."

Then he read aloud the passage and the note, and explained :
" Now, the whole matter was this. There were a couple of
Northern ministers, — Wesleyans, I believe they called them-

"WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 79

selves, — who couldn't make out to hold their tongues, but were
a-spoutin' an' argyfyin' around here as if the Lord hadn't given
them any instructions, only to abuse and denounce slaveholders
and slavery. I went to hear 'em once or twice just to satisfy
myself. They were very imprudent and very intemperate. I
spoke to one of them after meeting was out that day, an' told
him so. He wouldn't listen at all, but rattled off more Scripture
at me than I ever heard in the same time from any body else on
.earth. I didn't quarrel with him (you know I never quarrel
with anybody, Colonel), an' I presume I did tell him I was his
friend. I'm everybody's friend, an' always have been. I didn't
want him to get into no trouble, an' didn't want no harm to
come to him. That's all true, an' I've no doubt I said so to
him. But I did not. approve his doctrine, nor sympathize with
his sentiments; nor did I tell him so, though he says I did in the
note. I never thought of such a thing. I probably told him I
was a magistrate, which was true, and that I was afraid of
trouble, which was equally true. Come to think of it, I am of
the notion that I told him he had better not preach at the Level
Cross. If I didn't, I ought to have done so ; for, if they had gone
into that neighborhood, they would have been strung up to a
tree, certain. Anyhow, the appointment was changed to Shallow
Ford" meeting-house for the next Sunday. That is true, an' I
presume it was on my warning. Now, I am represented as
doing all this to get these men into my power. I swear to you,
Colonel, it's false. I hadn't such an idea. I thought they
were fools, and think so yet ; but I hadn't any malice or harm
against them in the world. But as it happened, without
any knowledge or advisement of mine, directly or indirectly,
the next Sunday morning, when the meeting was to be at
Shallow Ford, there came by my house a party of gentlemen
going on to Level Cross, to hear the Wesleyans, they said. I
told them they were on the wrong road, just as a matter of
politeness, you know ; and they came on up to the fork of the
road above your place here, and took over to Shallow Ford,
sure enough. After they had been gone about an hour or so, it
occurred to me that they might be bent on mischief. I don't

80 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

say I might not have done just the same if I had known their
errand ; but as a fact I did not, and never suspected it till after
wards."

" Well," asked Servosse, " is the rest of the incident true, —
that about dragging the ministers from the pulpit, bucking them
across a log, and beating them V "

" Well, I heard afterwards that they did break up the meet
ing, and give the preachers a little brushing. They might have
bucked 'em across a log; more'n likely they did: it's a powerful
handy way to larrup a man. I don't allow, though, that it was
any thing like so severe as it's represented in the book, though
no doubt the preachers thought it pretty rough. I s'pose
they weren't used to it — perhaps thought their cloth would save
them. I understand they got away powerful quick after that,
not waiting for any repetition of the dose, which was about the
only sensible thing they did do."

The old man told it with twinkling eyes, and an evident
relish of the whole proceeding.

" I have always had some doubt in regard to these incidents,"
said Servosse, "and am glad to have this confirmed by one who
was an actor in it; but you don't pretend to justify such pro
ceedings, Squire? "

" Well, now, Colonel, I don't really see what there is to make
such a fuss about," said Ilyman. " Here was a peaceable com
munity, living under the protection of the Constitution and laws
of the country ; and these men, who had no business or interest
here, came among us, and advocated doctrines, which, if adopted,
would have destroyed the constitution of our society, and per
haps have endangered our lives and families. Such doctrines
lead at once and naturally to insurrection among the blacks,
and threatened us with all the horrors of San Domingo. I
must say, Colonel, I think the gentlemen were very lenient and
forbearing, when they only striped the preachers' backs a little,
instead of stretching their necks, as would have been done in
any less peaceable community under like provocation."

"It is just such intolerance as this, Squire, which makes it
next to impossible for the South to accept its present situation.

"WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 81

„ -— *

You all want to shoot, whip, hang, and burn those who do not
agree with you. It is all the fruit and outcome of two hundred
years of slavery : in fact, it is part and parcel of it," said
Servosse.

" But you don't think those men had any right to come here,
and preach such dangerous doctrines, do you? " asked his
neighbor in surprise.

" Certainly," said Comfort : " why not? "

" Why not? " echoed the Squire. " Why, it seems to me the
most evident thing on earth that every community has an
undoubted right to protect itself. That is all we did, — pro
tected ourselves and our institutions."

" Protected yourselves against your institutions, more properly,"
said Servosse. " That is the very strength of the abolitionists'
position, Squire. No community has any right to have, cherish,;
or protect any institution which can not bear the light of reason
and free discussion."

" But, suppose they do tolerate such an institution, does that
give one a right to bring a firebrand among them? Are not
they the proper judges of what is the correct thing for their
own good, — the keepers of their own consciences? "

" It is useless to discuss the matter," said Servosse. " The
arguments you use are the arguments of intolerance and big
otry in all ages. Even men who wish to be liberal-minded,
like you, Squire, are blinded by them. You thought it was
fair to whip those ministers for preaching what they deemed
God's word, because the bulk of the community did not agree
with them. That was the very argument which would have
been used to justify Tom Savage and the others, if they had
succeeded in giving me a flagellation a while ago, as they
attempted to do. The principle is the same. I had disagreed
with my neighbors, and advocated strange doctrines. By your
reasoning they had a right to suppress me by violence, or even
by murder if need be."

" Oh, not so bad as that, I hope, Colonel ! " said the Squire.

"Yes, it is just as bad as that; and I tell you what it is,
neighbor Hyman," said Servosse, "the most dangerous and

82 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

difficult element of the future, at the South, is this irrepressible
intolerance of the opinions of others. You deem disagree
ment an insult, and opposition a crime, which justifies any
enormity. It will bring bitter fruit, and you will see it."

" Oh, I hope not ! " said the old man lightly. " I want to get
along peaceably now, and I am sure our people want to do the
same. We may be a little hot-blooded, and all that ; but we
are not mean. We are poor now, — have lost every thing but
honor; and I hope we shall not lose that. But I must be
going. By the way, if you should be writing to any of your
friends at the North, and should think of mentioning Nathan
iel Hyman, I wish you would just say that he never practiced
any deception on the ministers, and was not responsible for
the licking they got, directly nor indirectly. Good-evening,
ma'am."

He lighted his pipe, and went home, evidently thinking that
his connection with this ante bellum barbarity had somehow
increased his importance in the eyes of his new neighbors.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE EDGE OF HOSPITALITY DULLED.

FROM the day of his speech in the grove, the new proprietor
of Warrington was a marked man in the community. He was
regarded as an "abolitionist" and an incendiary. While his
neighbors did not seem to have towards him any especial dis
trust in their personal intercourse, and generally met him with
affability, yet he gradually became aware that a current of won
derful strength was setting against him. He became an object
of remark at public assemblies ; the newspaper at Verdenton
had every now and then slighting allusions to him ; and the
idea was industriously circulated that he was somehow con
nected — identified — with " Yankee power," and had been sent

THE EDGE OF HOSPITALITY DULLED. 83

to the South for some sinister motive. He was not one of
them. He represented another civilization, another develop
ment, of which they were naturally suspicious, and especially so
on account of the peculiar restrictions which slavery had put
around them, and which had acted as an embargo on immigra
tion for so many years before the war.

The intercourse between his family and those who constitute
what was termed "good society" gradually dwindled, without
actual rudeness or tangible neglect, until the few country-
people who '-neighbored with them," as it is termed there,
comprised their only society, if we except the teachers of the
colored school and the few Northern families in the town.

Now and then this feeling of hereditary aversion for the
Yankee manifested itself unpleasantly ; but it was usually only
an undemonstrative, latent feeling, which was felt rather than
seen in those with whom he associated in business or otherwise,
until the first year had passed away, arid the crops had been
gathered.

Little attention had been paid to the manner in which he had
chosen to build houses and sell lands to the colored people, — it
being perhaps regarded as merely a visionary idea of the Yan
kee abolitionist. When, however, the crops were harvested,
and some of these men became owners of horses and houses in
their own right, it seemed all at once to awaken general atten
tion. One night a gang of disguised ruffians burst upon the
little settlement of colored men, beat and cruelly outraged some,
took the horses of two. and cut and mangled those belonging
to others.

When the Fool arose the next morning, he found the follow
ing attached to his door-knob, wrapped in a piece of black cloth,
on which was traced in white paint a death's-head and cross-
bones above the figure of a coffin : —

" COLONEL COMFORT SEKVOSSE. Sir, — You hev got to leeve this
country, and the quicker you do it the better; fer you ain't safe here,
nor enny other miserable Yankee! You come here rto put niggers
over white folks, sayin ez how they should vote and set on juries and
sware away white folkes rites as much as they damin plesase. You

84 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

are backin up this notion by a sellin of em land and bosses and
mules, till they are gittin so big in ther boots they cant rest. You've
bin warned that sech things wont be born; but you jes go on en if
ther want nobody else on arth. Now, we've jes made up our minds
not to stan it enny longer. We've been and lamed yer darnm nig
gers better manners than to be a ridin hossback when white folks is
walkin. ^The Regulators hez met, and decided thet no nigger shant
be allowecfto own no boss nor run no crop on his own account here-
arterTy' And no nigger-worshipin Yankee spy thet encourages them
in their insolense shel live in the county. Now, sir, we gives you
three days to git away. Ef your here when that time's over, the
buzzards wil hev a bait thats been right scarce since the war was
over. You may think wes foolin. Other people Lez made thet mis
take to ther sorrer. Ef you don't want to size a coffin jest yit you
better git a ticket that will take you towards the North Star jes ez
far ez the roads been cut out.

" By order of

" THE CAPTING OP THE REGULATORS."

The Fool at once published this letter in "The Verdenton
Gazette," with a short, sturdy answer, saying that he was
minding his own business, and expected other people to mind
theirs. He paid for it as an advertisement, — the only terms
on which the editor would admit it to his columns. This pro
ceeding, which in the North or in any other State of society
would have awakened the liveliest indignation towards those
who thus attempted to drive him away from his home, as well
as a strong sympathy for him, had no such effect upon this
community. Many openly approved the course of the mob;
others faintly condemned; and no one took any steps to prevent
the consummation of the outrage threatened. No one seemed
to think that the Fool was entitled to any support or sympa
thy. That he should sell land to colored men, and assist them
to purchase stock, was considered by nearly the entire commu
nity as an offense deserving the worst punishment ; and that
he should go farther, and publicly favor their enfranchisement,
was such a gross outrage upon the feelings and prejudices of
the whites, that many seemed much surprised that any warn
ing at all had been given by the " Regulators."

The one most interested, however, was not idle. He pro-

THE SECOND MILE POST. 85

cured arms and ammunition, and prepared for the defense of
his life and property, and the protection of his tenants and
those to whom he had sold. A stockade was built for the
horses in a favorable position, a guard provided, and signals
agreed on in case of an attack. The commandant of the
troops at a neighboring station sent a small detachment, which
remained for a few days, and was then withdrawn. They had
not been required by the owner of Warrington ; but the rumor
.went out that he had called for troops to protect him, and the
feeling grew day by day more hostile towards him.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SECOND MILE POST.

WHEN the second Christmas came, Metta wrote again to her
sister : —

" DEAR JULIA, — It is more than a year since I wrote you my
first letter from our Southern home. Alas! except for the improve
ments we have made in Warrington, and the increased sense of
homeliness which we feel in our inanimate surroundings, it is
hardly any more like home than it was then. Comfort has been
very busy. He has put quite a new face on Warrington, which is
more delightful than any description could convey to you. Almost
every day he is out superintending and directing the work, and,
Yankee-like, ' doing right smart of it ' himself, as they say here.
This, with the delightful climate and my care, — for I must have
some of the credit, — has transformed my invalid husband into a
cheerful, stalwart man, who seems to be in constant enjoyment of
life.

" Most of my time is occupied with teaching our little daughter,
or rather coaxing her to learn, for she is the most strangely willful
child in this respect you ever saw. I am taking much pains with
her, and she is making wonderful progress in a peculiar sort of a
way. She is out with her father on the plantation a great deal, and,
as a result, knows the name of every tree and flower, wild or culti-

86 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

vated, which grows about Warrington. She has either inherited or
acquired that wonderful power of observation which Comfort has,
and is already better versed in some branches of knowledge than I
am likely ever to be.

" This, with my few household cares, and the enjoyment of rides,
walks, and all sorts of excursions, makes up my life. Mere exist
ence here is a constant joy. The sunshine is brighter, the moon
light softer, the sky fairer, the earth more seductive, than in the old
home. There is a sort of intoxication in it all, — the flowers, coming
at odd times and with unwonted richness and profusion ; the trees,
of a strangely charming outline and foliage, making forest and
grove, which have always some sort of weird charm, so different
from what we ever knew at the North; and over all the balmy
air.

" And yet we miss our friends, — ah! sadly enough, — for we have
none here, and somehow can not make any. I am sure no one ever
came to a new home with kindlier feelings for all who might sur
round us than we did. You know Comfort would not hear a word
about trouble with the people here. He would insist that they were
a brave, genial people ; that the war was over; and that everybody
would be better friends hereafter from its having occurred. He has
found out his mistake. I am afraid we shall have no real friends
here. There are some, perhaps, who think well of us, and, no
doubt, wish us well in the main ; but they are not friends. Some
how it seems that the old distrust and dislike of Northern people
will not let them be friendly and confiding with us ; or perhaps
the fault may be with us. We are so different, have been reared
under such different influences, and have such different thoughts,
that it does not seem as if we should ever get nearer to them.

"You heard about our trouble with the 'Regulators.' Comfort
got a lot of guns and ammunition for the colored men, and made
preparations to fight in good earnest ; but they have not disturbed
us since. Mr. Savage sent them word that they could not hurt us
until they had killed him, and came over and staid with us some
weeks. I think it was his influence which saved us from further
attack.

" The feeling is terribly bitter against Comfort on account of his
course towards the colored people. There is quite a village of them
on the lower end of the plantation. They have a church, a sabbath
school, and are to have next year a school. You can not imagine
how kind they have been to us, and how much they are attached to
Comfort. They are having a ' tracted meeting,' as they call it, now
I got Comfort to go with me to one of their prayer-meetings a few

THE SECOND MILE POST. 87

nights ago. I had heard a great deal about them, but had never
attended one before. It was strangely weird. There were, perhaps,
fifty present, mostly middle-aged men and women. They were
singing, in a soft, low monotone, interspersed with prolonged ex
clamatory notes, a sort of rude hymn, which I was surprised to
know was one of their old songs in slave times. How the chorus
came to be endured in those days I can not imagine. It was —

'Free! free! free, ray Lord, free!
An' \ve walks de hebben-ly way ! '

" A few looked around as we came in and seated ourselves; and
Uncle Jerry, the saint of the settlement, came forward on his staves,
and said, in his soft voice, —

"'Ev'nin', Kunnel ! Sarvant, Missus! Will you walk up, an'
hev seats in front ? '

"We told him we had just looked in, and might go in a short
time; so we would stay in the back part of the audience.
— '^ Uncle Jerry can not read nor write ; but he is a man of strange
intelligence and power. Unable to do work of any account, he is the
faithful friend, monitor, and director of others. He has a house
and piece of land, all paid for, a good horse and cow, and, with the
aid of his wife and two boys, made a fine crop this season. He is
one of the most promising colored men in the settlement: so Com
fort says, at least. Everybody seems to have great respect for his
character. I don't know how many people I have heard speak of
his religion. Mr. Savage used to say he had rather hear him pray
than any other man on earth. He was much prized by his master,
even after he was disabled, on account of his faithfulness and char-
L acter.

" The meeting was led that night by a mulatto man named Robert,
who was what is now called an ' old-issue free nigger ' (freed before
the war). He seemed very anxious to display the fact that he could
read, and, with comical pride, blundered through ' de free hunner'n
firty-fird hymn,' and a chapter of Scripture. Some of his comments
on passages of the latter were ludicrously apt. ' I indeed baptize
with water; but he that cometh after me shall baptize with the
Holy Ghost and with fire,' he read with difficulty. ' Baptize wid
water,' he repeated thoughtfully. ' We all know what dat is ; an'
baptizin' wid de Holy Ghos', dat's what we's come here arter to
night. [' Amen ! ' ' Bress God ! ' ' Dar now ! ' ] But baptizin' wid
fire! — 'clar, brudderin' an' sisters, it allers makes my har stan'
straight tu think what dat ar muss mean ! Baptize wid fire ! I
spec' dat's de tryin' ob de gold in de furnace, — de Lord's furnace,
— dat clars out all de dross, but muss be powerful hot ! '

88 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" There was nothing special then for some time, until one man
began weaving back and forth on his knees, and shouted, in a voice
which might have been heard a mile, for fifteen or twenty minutes,
only one sentence — ' Gather 'em in ! O Lor', gather 'em in ! Gather
'em in ! O Lor', gather 'em in ! ' — in a strange, singing tone, the
effect of which upon the nerves was something terrible. Men shout
ed, women screamed. Some sprang from their knees, and danced,
shouting, and tossing their arms about in an unconscious manner,
reminding me of what I had read of the dancing dervishes of the
Orient. One woman fainted ; and finally the see-sawing shouter
himself fell over. Some water was poured on his head, a slow
soothing hymn was sung, and in five minutes the assemblage was
as quiet as any country prayer-meeting in Michigan. For me, I
found myself clinging to Comfort's arm in almost hysterical fright.
I begged him to take me away, but am very glad now that he did
not.

"After a time Uncle Jerry raised his head, which had all the
time been bowed upon his knees since the meeting began, and,
lifting his thin hands towards the people, said, in a soft, clear
voice, —

" ' Let us all kneel down, an' pray, — one mo' short pra'r ! short
pra'r ! '

" He knelt with his face towards us. The guttered candle on
the rough pine table threw its flickering light over him, as, with
upturned face and clasping hands, he 'talked with God,' oh, how
simply and directly ! And, as he prayed, a strange light seemed to
come over his brown face, set in its white frame of snowy hair and
beard. He prayed for all, except himself, and seemed to bring the
cares and troubles of all before the throne of grace, as if he had the
key to the heart of each.

"Then he came to pray for us, — 'the stranger fren' whom God
has raised up an' led, in his myster'ous way, to do us good, — bless
him, O Lord, in basket an' sto', heart an' home ! He don't know
what he's got afo' him ! Stay his han', an' keep him strong an'
brave ! ' But I can never reproduce the strange tenderness and
faith of this prayer. I leaned my head on Comfort's shoulder, and
the tears fell like rain as I listened. All at once there was silence.
The voice of prayer had ceased ; yet the prayer did not seern ended.
I raised my eyes, and looked. Uncle Jerry still knelt at his chair,
every worshiper still kneeling in his place; but every head was
turned, and every eye was fastened on him. His eyes were fixed —
on what ? He was looking upward, as if he saw beyond the earth.
His face was set in rigid lines, yet lighted up with a look of awful

THE SECOND MILE POST. 89

joy. His breath came slow and sobbingly; but, aside from that,
not a muscle moved. Not a word was uttered ; but every look was
fastened on him with hushed and fearful expectancy.

" 'Hain't bin dat way but once afo' serice de surrender,' I heard
one of the women whisper, under her breath, to another.

" Five minutes — perhaps ten minutes —elapsed, and he had not
spoken or moved. It was fearful, the terrible silence, and that
fixed, immovable face and stony figure ! There was something
preternatural about it.

"At length there came a quiver about the lips. The eyes lost
their fixity. The hands which had rested on the chair were clasped
together, and a look of divine rapture swept across the upturned
face, as he exclaimed, in a tone fairly burdened with ecstatic
joy,—

" ' I sees Him! I sees Him ! Dar He is ! ' And he pointed, with
a thin and trembling hand, towards the farther corner of the room.
' I sees Him wid de crown ob salvation on His head : de keys o'
hebben a-hangin' in His girdle, — God's keys for de white pearl gates,
— wid de bress-plate ob Holiness an' de mantle ob Righteousness.
Dah He is a-walkiir among de candlesticks yit! He's a-comin*
nigh us, — bress His holy name ! — a-lookin' arter His people, and
a-gatherin' on 'em in ! '

" I can not tell you what a strange rhapsody fell from his lips; but
it ended as it began, — suddenly, and without warning. The glorified
look faded from his face. The sentence died midway on his lips.
His eyes regained their conscious look, and ran around the hushed \
circle of attent faces, while a knowledge of what had taken place
seemed first to flash upon him. He covered his face with his
hands, and sank down with a groan, exclaiming, in apologetic
tones, —

"'O Lor'! O Lor'! thou knowest de weakness ob dy sarvant!
Spar' him ! spar' him ! ' The meeting ended, and we went home.
Somehow I can not get over the feeling that the little log-church is/
a place where one has indeed seen God.

" They told us afterwards that Uncle Jerry often had these
'spells,' as they call them, whenever there was a great battle
pending or imminent during the war, and they could always tell
which way the fight had gone, by what he said in these trances.
They say he knows nothing of what he says at such times. I asked
him about it one day. He simply said, ' I can't 'splain it, Missus.
'Pears like it's a cross I hez specially to carry. It's made me a heap
o' trouble. Bin whipped fer it heaps o' times; an', 'sides dat, I allers
feel ez if I'd lived 'bout ten years when I comes out o' one o' dem

90 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

spells. Can't understan' it, Missus; but Uncle Jerry '11 quit in
some of dem spells yit ! '

" We do not often go to church now. There is no positive in
civility offered us; but there is a constant coldness, which says,
plainer than words can, that we are not wanted. Comfort still has
hope that these things will wear away as time passes ; but I begin
to think that we shall always be strangers in the land in which we
dwell. I do not see any chance for it to be otherwise,1 The North
and the South are two peoples, utterly dissimilar in all their char
acteristics; and I am afraid that more than one generation must
pass before they will become one.!

" Your leaving sister,

" METTA."

CHAPTER XVIII.

CONGRATULATION AND CONDOLENCE.

SOON after the Fool's publication of the Regulators' warn
ing and his own reply in " The Verdenton Gazette," he received
many letters, some of which may be given as illustrative of
the atmosphere in which he lived. The first of these came
from a remote portion of the State, and from one of whom
the Fool had never even heard : —

" COLONEL COMFORT SERVOSSE. Dear Sir, — I saw your letter in
'The Verdenton Gazette,' and was so struck with the similarity of
our positions, that I determined to write to you at once. Some of
the worst of our people, as I believe, have formed themselves into a
band of Regulators for the sake of attending to everybody's business
but their own. I am a native of this State, and fought through the
war in the Confederate army, from Bull Run to Appomattox, never
missing a day's duty nor a fight. When it was over, I found mjrself
•with only a few hundred acres of land (which had been tramped
over and burned and stripped by both armies), and no money, no
crop, no stock, a large family, some debts, good health, and a con
stitution like white hickory. I made up my mind to go to work at
once. I went to the nearest post, told my story, and got two horses.
I did some hauling, and got some other things, — an army wagon and

CONGRATULATION AND CONDOLENCE. 91

an ambulance. A friend who happened to have saved some cotton
sold it, and loaned me a little money. I went to work, hired some
niggers, told them I would feed them, and work with them, and,
when the crop was sold, we would divide. They turned in, and
worked with me. We made a splendid crop, and I divided right
smart of money with them in the fall.

" This year some of them wanted to work crops on shares. I
could trust them, as they had worked for me the year before. I
knew they had enough to bread themselves, and were well able to
run a ' one-horse crop.' This would allow me to use my means in
putting in more land elsewhere, and so be decidedly to my advan
tage as well as theirs. I was thinking of my own profit, though,
when I did it. Well, I sold some of them horses and mules, and
helped others to get them elsewhere. The spring opened, and I
had the busiest farm and finest prospect I have ever seen. I was
running a big force, and every nigger on the plantation had a full
crop about half pitched, when all at once I got a notice from the
Regulators, just about like the one you publish, only they didn't
require me to leave, only to stop selling horses to niggers and let
ting them crop on shares. They said they had made up their minds
that no nigger should straddle his own horse, or ride in his own cart,
in this county.

" I saw in a minute that it meant ruin to Exum Davis either
way. If I gave in to them, I discouraged my hands, spoilt my crop,
and would be swamped by my fertilizer account in the fall. If I
didn't, the cussed fools would be deviling and worrying my hands,
ham-stringing their stock, and my crop would be short. It didn't
take me long to decide. I made up my mind to fight.

" It wasn't an hour after I read that notice, before I had every
horse and mule on the place hauling pine-logs for a stockade;
though I didn't let anybody know what I had on hand. Then I
went off to Gainsborough to see the post commander there, Colonel
Ricker. He is a good fellow and a gentleman, if he is a Yankee.
I told him square out what the matter was ; and he let me have as
many old guns as I wanted (part of them surrendered arms, and
part extra guns of his command), and a couple boxes of ammuni
tion. When I got back, I told the boys what was up, and dis
tributed the arms. We put our horses in the woods that night,
stood to our arms all night, put up the stockade next day, and
sent word to the Regulators that they might go to hell. We've
kept at work, being mighty careful not to be surprised, and have
not been disturbed yet. 1 don't reckon we shall be ; but there i
telling. I say, Stand your ground. They say you're a ' Yank; ' I1

92 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

that don't make any difference. Law's law, and right's right; and
I hope you will give anybody that comes to disturb you as warm a
welcome as they would get here from

" Yours respectfully,

" EXUM DAVIS.'*

The next was from the old doctor, George D. Garnet : —

" MY DEAR COLONEL, — I was sorry to see that the feeling against
you, because you are of Northern birth, which has been smoldering
ever since you came among us, has at last burst into a flame. I
have been expecting it all the time, and so can not say I am sur
prised ; but it has been so long in showing itself, that I was truly in
hopes that you would escape further molestation. I know that I
had no reason to anticipate such a result, because you represent a
development utterly antagonistic to that in the midst of which you
are placed, and are so imbued with its spirit that you can not lay
aside nor conceal its characteristics. That civilization by which you
are surrounded has never been tolerant of opinions which do not
harmonize with its ideas. Based and builded on slavery, the ideas
which were a part of that institution, or which were necessary to its
protection and development, have become ingrained, and essential to
the existence of the community. It was this development which
was even more dangerous and inimical to the nation than the insti
tution itself. You must remember, dear Colonel, that neither the
nature, habits of thought, nor prejudices of men, are changed by
war or its results. The institution of slavery is abolished; but the
prejudice, intolerance, and bitterness which it fostered and nourished,
are still alive, and will live nntil those who were raised beneath its
glare have moldered back to dust. A new generation — perhaps
many new generations — must arise before the North and the South
can be one people, or the prejudices, resentments, and ideas of
slavery, intensified by unsuccessful war, can be obliterated.

"I hope you will not be discouraged. Your course is the right
one, and by pursuing it steadily you will sow the seed of future
good. You may not live to reap its advantages, or to see others
gather its fair fruits ; but, as God is the God of truth and right, he
will send a husbandman who will some time gather full sheaves
from your seeding, if you do not faint.

" To show you that not only you who are from the North are made

to feel the weight of disapproval which our Southern society visits

•ipon those who do not accord with all its sentiments, I inclose you

*• curtificate which I received from the church at Mayfield the other

CONGRATULATION AND CONDOLENCE. 93

day. I have been a member and a deacon of this church for almost
quarter of a century. I was lately informed that my name had
been dropped from the church-roll. Upon inquiry, I found that
I had been expelled by vote of the church, without a trial. I de
manded a certificate of the fact as a vindication of my character,
and the inclosed is what was given me. It is neither more nor less
than I had expected for some time; but it comes hard to a man who
has reached his threescore years, and now sees his children pointed
at in scorn, contemned and ostracized by the church of God, because
their father does what he conceives to be his Christian duty.

" "With warmest regards for yourself and wife, and the fair-haired
child who fills the sad old house with sunshine, I remain,

" Yours very truly,

" GEORGE D. GARNET."

The inclosure to which he referred read as follows : —

" To WHOM IT MAY CONCERN, — This is to certify, that on the first
day of April, 1867, the deacons and members of the Baptist Church,
at Mayfield, in regular church meeting assembled, Brother R. Law
rence acting as moderator, did unanimously pass the following
resolution : —

" ' Resolved, That brother Deacon George D. Garnet be dropped
from the roll of this church, becaiise he walketh not with vis.'
And subsequently, on the same day, at the request of brother
George D. Garnet, and to show that it was not from his bad moral
character that the said church refuses longer to fellowship with
him, the following was added to said resolution as explanatory of
it; to wit, 'but persists, after repeated warnings and advice, upon
organizing, encouraging, and teaching in a negro sabbath school,
by which he has made himself a stumbling-block and means of
offense to many of the members of said church.'
(Signed)

" JOHN SENTER, Clerk.

" ROBERT LAWRENCE, Deacon and Moderator."

The next letter was from a Union man of considerable emi
nence, who occupied the important position of public prose
cutor in the courts of the State. He wrote a letter which is
significant in many ways of the public sentiment of the day : —

" COLONEL COMFORT SERVOSSE. Dear Sir, — I notice by your letter
in ' The Gazette ' that you are not only angry, but also surprised, at
the outrageous demands of the Regulators. Your anger is but

94 A FOOL '£ ERRAND.

natural; but your surprise, you will allow me to say, shows 'an
understanding simple and unschooled.' That you should be unable
to measure the strength of prejudice in the Southern mind is not
strange. You should remember that the war has rather intensified
than diminished the pride, the arrogance, and the sectional rancor
and malevolence of the Southern people. If you will consider it
for a moment, you will see that this is the natural and unavoidable
result of such a struggle. All that made the Southern slaveholder
and rebel what he was, still characterizes him since the surrender.
The dogma of State-sovereignty has been prevented from receiving
practical development, but as a theory it is as vital and as sacred as
ever. The fact of slavery is destroyed: the right to enslave is yet as
devoutly held as ever. The right of a white man to certain political
privileges is admitted: the right of a colored man to such, it will
require generations to establish. It is not at you as an individual
that the blow is struck; but these people feel that you, by the very
fact of Northern birth, and service in the Federal army, represent a
power which has deprived them of property, liberty, and a right to
control their own, and that now, in sheer wantonness of insult, you
are encouraging the colored people to do those two things which are
more sacred than any other to the Southern mind; to wit, to buy and
hold land and to ride their own horses. You can not understand why
they should feel so, because you were never submitted to the same
influences. You have a right to be angry; but your surprise is in
credible to them, and pitiable to me.

" To show you to what extent prejudice will extend, permit me
to relate an incident yet fresh in my mind. During a recent trial
in the court at Martinsville I had occasion to challenge the jurors
upon the trial of an indictment of a white man for killing a negro.
The Court, after some hesitation, permitted me to ask each juror
this question, ' Have you any feeling which would prevent you from
convicting a white man for the murder of a negro, should the evi
dence show him to be guilty ? ' Strange and discreditable as it may
appear to you, it became necessary, in addition to the regular panel,
to order three writs of venire, of fifty each, before twelve men could be
found who could answer this simple question in the negative. When
prejudice goes so far that a hundred and fifty men acknowledge
upon their oaths that they will not convict a white man for killing
a negro, you umst not be surprised that the ante bellum dislike and
distrust of Northern men should show itself in the same manner.
The South has been changed only in so far as the overwhelming
power of the conqueror has rendered change imperative. In its old
domain, prejudice is still as bitter and unreasoning as ever. Perhaps

CONGRATULATION AND CONDOLENCE. 95

I ought not to reproach you for expressing surprise ; since it was not
clear even to me, a native, until I had carefully studied the cause
and effect. While I sincerely regret the unfortunate folly of these
men, and hope it may extend no farther, I must still beg you to
consider that it is only what must always be expected under such
circumstances as the recent past has witnessed.

'•' If you have any clew to the persons guilty of this act, or if I can
be of any service in freeing you from annoyances, please to consider
me, both personally and officially,

" Yours to command,

" THOMAS DENTON,"

The other two were directed to Metta. The first was from
the wife of a Northern man who had settled in a neighboring
State, and whom Metta had met at the house of a common
friend some months before. It was edged with black, and told
a sad story : —

"MY DEAR MRS. SERVOSSE, — I have desired to write you for
several days, but have been too overwhelmed with grief to do so.
You have probably seen in the papers the account of iny husband's
death. You know he was appointed sheriff of this county a few
months ago by the general commanding the district. There was a
great deal of feeling about the matter, and I begged him not to
accept. Somehow I had a presentiment of evil to come from it; but
he laughed at iny fears, said he should only do his duty, and there
could be no cause of increased hostility against him. Indeed, I
think he had an idea, that, when the people foun'd out that his only
purpose was to administer the office fairly, they would respect his
motives, and be more friendly than they had been for the past few
months. He never would believe that the hostility towards North
ern men was any thing more than a temporary fever.

" After he entered upon the office, there were many threats made
against him, and I begged him not to expose himself. But he did
not know what fear was, and rode all over the county at all times,
in the performance of his duties, coming home every night when it
was possible, however, because he knew of my anxiety. One week
ago to-day he was detained at the court-house later than usual.
You know we live about five miles from the county-seat. As night
came on I grew very anxious about him. I seemed to know that
danger threatened him. Finally I became so uneasy that I had my
fflare saddled, and rode to meet him, as I frequently did. The road

96 A FOODS ERRAND.

is almost directly westward, winding through an overhanging forest,
with only here and there a plantation road leading off to a neighbor's
house.

" It was almost sundown when I started. Would to God it had
been earlier ! Perhaps I might have saved him then. I had gone
about a mile, when, rising a little eminence, I saw him coming down
the slope beyond, and at a little branch at the foot of the hill I
stopped to wait for him. He waved his hat as he saw me, and
struck into a brisk canter. I wanted to give the mare the whip, and
gallop to him ; but I feared he would see my alarm, and count it
childish: so I sat and waited. He had come half the distance,
when suddenly there was a puff of smoke from the roadside. I
did not wait even to hear the report, but with a cry of despair
struck my horse, and rushed forward like the wind. I saw him fall
from his horse, which rushed madly by me. Then I saw three mis
creants steal away from a leafy blind, behind which they had been
hidden; and then I had my poor murdered husband in my arms,
heard his last struggling gasp, and felt his warm heart-blood gushing
over my hands as I clasped him to my breast. I knew nothing
more until I was at home with my dead.

" Oh, my dear friend, I can not picture to you my desolation ! It
is so horrible ! If he had died in battle, I could have endured it;
even accident, or swift disease, it seems to me, I could have borne:
but this horrible, causeless murder fills me with rage and hate as
well as grief. Why did we ever come to this accursed land ! And
oh, my friend, do not neglect my warning ! Do not cease your en
treaty until your husband hears your prayers. Do not risk the fate
which has befallen me.

".Yours in hopeless sorrow,

" ALICE E. COLEMAN."

The other letter was in a neat, feminine hand, written on the
coarse, dingy paper known as " Confederate paper," which was
the only kind accessible during the blockade. It was evidently
written by a woman of culture. It was not signed with any
name, but only " Your true friend," and bore the postmark
of Verdenton : —

"MY DEAR MRS. SERVOSSE, — Though you do not know who I
am, I have seen you, and am sure you are not only a lady, but a sen
sible, true-hearted woman. Though a stranger, I would not have
you suffer grief, or incur trouble, if in my power to prevent it.

CONGRATULATION AND CONDOLENCE. 97

Please, then, dear madam, listen to the advice of a sincere well-
wisher, and do all in your power to persuade your husband to leave
this part of the country. I am sure he can not be a bad man, or you
would not love him so well. But you must know that his ideas are
very obnoxious to us Southern people; and if he stays here, and
continues to express them as htf'has hitherto, I feel that there will be
trouble. You know our Southern gentlemen can not endure any
reflections upon their conduct or motives ; and the hopes and aspira
tions which gathered around the Confederacy are all the dearer from
the fate of our ' Lost Cause.' I know whereof I write." [The next
sentence had been commenced with the words " My husband,"
which had been so nearly erased that they could only be read with
difficulty.] " Several gentlemen were speaking of the matter in my
hearing only last night, and I tremble to think what may occur if
you do not heed my warning.

" O dear lady! let me beg you, as a Christian woman, to implore
your husband to go away. You do not know what sorrow you will
save, not only yourself, but others who would mourn almost as deeply
as you, and perhaps more bitterly. The war is over; and oh! if you
have mourned as much as I over its havoc, you will be willing to do
and suffer any thing in order to avoid further bloodshed, violence,
evil, and sorrow. May God guide you!

" I can only sign myself

" YOUK TRUE FRIEND."

Metta took these letters to the Fool, and laid them silently
before him. Her face looked gray and wan, and there was the
shadow of a great fear in her eyes, as she did so. He read them
over carefully, laid them down, and looked up into her face as
he said, —

"Well?"

" I thought I ought to show them to you, dear husband," she
said with quivering lip ; and then the pent-up tears overflowed
the swollen lids, as she buried her head on his breast, and,
clasped in his arms, wept long and convulsively. When her
grief was somewhat soothed, he said, —

" What do you wish me to do, Metta? "

"Whatever you think to be your duty, my dear husband,"
she replied, the sunshine of wifely devotion showing through
the last drops of the shower.

98 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

He kissed her forehead and lips, — kissed away the briny
tears from her eyes.

" We will stay," said the Fool.

The subject of removal from their adopted home was never
again mooted between them.

CHAPTER XIX.

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO.

"WHAT you tink ob de League, Kunnel?" said a sturdy,
intelligent colored man, who, under direction of Comfort Ser-
vosse, was pruning the grape-vines that were scattered about in
all manner of unexpected places, as well as in the staid and
orderly rows of the vineyard at Warrington. It was a bright
day in winter ; and the stricken soldier was gathering strength
and vitality by the unconscious medicament of the soft sun
shine and balmy breezes, and that light labor which the care
of trees and vines encouraged. He stood now critically sur
veying a long-neglected " Diana," on which he was about to
commence operations, his pruning-knife in his hand, and his
shears sticking out from a side-pocket of his overalls. At the
next vine was working his interlocutor, who glanced slyly
towards him as he asked the question.

"The 'League,' Andy?" said Servosse, looking at his co-
laborer with an amused smile, while he tried the edge of his
knife with his thumb. " What league do you mean? "

" De Union League, ob co'se. Didn't know dar was any
udder. Is dah ? " said Andy, as he finished tying up the vine
at which he had been at work, and started to the next.

" Oh, yes ! there are various kinds of leagues. But why do
you inquire about the Union League ? How did you ever hear
of it ? "

" Wai, putty much de same way you did, I 'spects," answered
Andy with a grin.

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO. 99

"Pretty much as I did?" said Servosse. "What do you
mean?"

"Why, I 'How you b'longs to it," said Andy. "Dey tells
me every Union soldier b'longs tq it. 'Sides dat, I made de
knocks de udder day on de work-bench, when you was workin'
at de wisteria in front o' de winder, an' I seed you look up
kinder sudden-like, an' den smile to youself as if you thought
you'd heerd from an ole friend, an' woke up to find ye'd been
a-dreamin'."

" So I did, Andy," answered the Caucasian. " Some time dur
ing the war I heard of an organization known as the Union
League. It strikes me that I first heard of it in the mountains
of East Tennessee, as instituted for self -protection and mutual
support among the sturdy Unioners there in those trying times.
However that may be, I first came in contact with its workings
in the fall of 1864. It was the very darkest period of the war
for us. The struggle had lasted so long that everybody was
tired out. The party in the North who were opposed to the
war " —

" Wasn't they called { Copperheads ' ? " interrupted Andy.

" Yes, we called them ' Copperheads,' " answered the Fool.
" These men seemed to think that it would be a good time to
stop the war, on the idea that both sides were tired of it, and
would rather end it on any terms than keep it up on uncertain
ties. So they were making great efforts to elect a president
who would let up on the Rebellion, and enable the rebels of
the South to accomplish their secession. At this time I es
caped from a Confederate prison, and after a time arrived in
Philadelphia. While I waited there for orders, a friend asked
me one night if I didn't want to join the Union League.
Upon asking what it was, I found that it was a society of men
who were determined never to give up the Union under any
hazard, but to uphold and sustain it with property and life if
need be. It was a secret association ; and its chief purpose was
said to be to enable the loyal people of any city or neighbor
hood to muster at the shortest possible notice, to resist invasion,
put down riot, or enforce the law, — to protect themselves and
families, or aid the government in extremities."

100 -A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" Was it any good ? " asked Andy.

" Well, indeed," responded his employer musingly, " I do not
know. A soldier who was on duty at the front the greater
part of the war had very little opportunity for knowing what
went on in his rear. I have heard that when ' Lee marched
over the mountain-wall ' into Maryland and Pennsylvania, and
threatened Philadelphia and Baltimore, the bells of Philadel
phia struck the signals of the League, and thousands rallied at
their places of assembly in an instant ; and that regiment after
regiment of resolute minute- men were organized and equipped
almost without an hour's delay. I know nothing about it."

" Do you want dis ' Concord ' cut back to two eyes, like de
rest, Kunnel? It's made a powerful strong growth, an' it
seems a clar waste to cut it back so close," asked the hireling,
as he held up for his employer's inspection a rank-grown cane
of the previous year, which had run along the ground until it
had appropriated the stake of a weakling neighbor, and clam
bered over it, smothering in its sturdy coils the growth of the
rightful owner.

" Yes," said Servosse hesitatingly, " cut it down. It seems
a pity, as you say, to destroy that beautiful growth ; but, when
vines have run wild for a time, the only way to bring them
back to sober, profitable bearing, is to cut them back without
—scruple. Cut them down to two eyes, if they are as big as
; your wrist, Andy. It's wasting the past, but saving the future.
i And it's my notion that the same thing is true of peoples and
. nations, Andy. For instance, when a part of a country rebels,
; and runs wild for a time, it ought to have the rank wood,
; the wild growth, cut away without mercy. They ought to be
held down, and pruned and shaped, until they are content to
bear ' the peaceable fruits of righteousness,' instead of clam
bering about, 'cumbering the ground ' with a useless growth."

"You was sayin' what de League had done, a while ago,"
said Andy, after there had been a period of silence, while they
each cut away at their respective vines.

"Yes," said Servosse. "I have heard, too, that the order
was very useful as a sort of reserve force in the rear, in putting

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO. 101

down such terrible riots as were gotten up in New York in the
dark days of the war, by emissaries of the enemy, acting with
the Copperheads of the North."

" Was dar many of 'em — de Leaguers I mean ? " asked
Andy.

" I understand," was the reply, " that it spread pretty much
all through the North in the later years of the war, and em
braced a very large portion of the Union men in those states,"

" Did all de Yankee soldiers belong to it ? " queried the
listener.

"Really, I don't know," said Servosse. "I don't suppose
I have ever heard more than a dozen or two say any thing
about it in the army. I suppose most of the veterans who
went home on leave of absence in 1864 may have joined it
while at. home, and the new levies may have belonged to it.
Of course, we had no need for such an organization in the
army."

"Well, is der any harm in it, Kunnel? Any reason why
anybody shouldn't jine it ? " asked Andy earnestly.

" None in the world, that I can see," answered Servosse.
" Indeed, I do not see why it should not be a good thing fqr
the colored people to do. It would teach them to organize and
work together, and they would learn in it something about
those public duties which are sure very soon to be cast upon
them. Besides, it is by no means sure that they may not need
it as a 'means of self-protection. I had not thought of it
before ; but I believe it might be a good thing."

" Dat's my notion, Mars' Kunnel. We's got a little league
down h'yer to Verdenton at de schoolhouse fer de culled folks,
an' we'd be mighty proud tu hev ye come down some Chuseday
night. Dat we would ! " said Andy.

" What ! you have got a chapter of the Union League
there ? "

"Yes: it's jes' like what you's been a-tellin' 'bout."

" How did you get it? "

"Wai, I don't jes' 'zactly know. Dar's some culled men
belongs to it as was soldiers in de Union army, an' I 'llowed

102 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

dey might hev fotch it wid 'em when dey come h'yer. Dat's
what made me ax you so close 'bout dat."

"Who belong to it? Are they all colored members?"

"Wai, de heft ob 'em is culled, ob co'se; but der's a right
smart sprinklin' ob white folks, arter all. Dar's all de Ufford
boys : dey wuz Uniouers, an' was hidin' out all de wah ; an' dey
say dey hed somefin' monstrous nigh like it in de bushes, an'
'long de lines, — what dey call de ' Red Stringems,' er somethin'
like dat. Den dar's Mr. Murry : he was jes' de rantanker-
ousest Union man dat ever was, all tru de wah. I'se heerd
him cuss de Kinfederacy right out when de soldiers was
marchin' long de street fo' his do'. He'll du tu tie tu, he
will. He says it does him good tu hear us sing 'Rally roun'
de Flag,' an' de 'Battle-Cry o' Freedom,' an' sech like songs,
kase he says it's his flag, an' he's only 'sprised dat e-verybody
don't rally roun' it. I reckon der's ez much ez a dozen white
folks in all. Some ez you wouldn't 'spect on't, tu. You'd du
us proud ef you'd come down, Mars' Kunnel."

"Who's your president, Andy? "

" Wai, sometimes one, an' sometimes anudder, jes' ac-
cordin' tu who's scholard enuff tu take de lead," answered
Andy, with ready pride in his new toy.

The idea was very amusing to the Fool ; and, the more he
thought of it, the more he was convinced that it might be a
valuable training-school to the inchoate citizens of the lately
rebellious States. Even while he was discussing the facts
which surrounded him, he could not realize them ; and he quite
forgot, in giving his assent to this idea, the fact that he was
living at the South, among a people who did not kindly brook
differences of opinion among equals, and who would be sure
to resent with an implacable hostility any society which not
only recognized the political autonomy of the recently subject
race, but also encouraged that race to look up to the govern
ment their masters had failed to destroy as their government,
their guardian, their protector ; which not only promoted ideas
not in harmony with those of the former rulers of this section,
but promoted the elevation of the freedman, prepared him for

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO. 103

civil life, and gave him confidence in himself as a political
integer. Had he thought of this, it is certain that he would
not have consented so readily to go and see Andy's society; for
what he most feared was a conflict or permanent antagonism
between the freedmen and their former masters; and he
thought that any sacrifice, not going to the substance of their
liberties, ought to be made rather than that such a conflict
should be risked.

However, stumbling over these apparent facts, he went
on the next Tuesday night to the schoolhouse in the suburbs
of Verdenton. It was just beyond the line of Warrington ;
and the little village which had grown up on his own estate
was but a continuation of the suburb, which, as in all South
ern cities, had been tacitly given up to the blacks since the
close of the war. It was a long, low building, made for
service, — one of that numerous array of buildings which was
mainly furnished to the recently emancipated seeker after
knowledge by 'the systematic bounty of that much abused
institution, the Freedmen 's Bureau. Acting in conjunction
with various religious and benevolent societies of the North,
it furnished a class of buildings better adapted to the needs
of those for whom they were designed, and affording greater
results, than was ever done in all history with like means. In
every village of the South was erected one or more of these
rough wooden buildings, consisting only of roof, rafter, walls
and floor of undressed plank. The minimum of cost and
the maximum of space were the objects kept constantly in view,
and usually attained beyond all question. These houses be
came to the colored people what the court of the temple was
to the Jews, — the place of assembly and worship, as well as
of instruction. They were usually unsectarian ; and it was no
unusual spectacle to see two or three denominations worship
ing in the same house, while the school was under the manage
ment and control of still another.

To them thronged with wondrous eagerness the old and
young alike of the recently emancipated race. The building
to which Comfort Servosse went that night was an imposing

104 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

structure in its dimensions. In it seven ladies who had come
from far Northern homes, filled with the genuine spirit of the
missionary, and no doubt thinking themselves endowed with
the spirit of that Redeemer who taught publicans in the market
or in the desert, despite the frowns of the Pharisees, held sway
These seven fair,, pure-hearted Northern girls taught within its
walls each day, and oftentimes at night, six hundred and more of
the race which had just now its first chance at the tree of knowl
edge since our common mother persisted in eating the mystic
apple. They, no doubt, thought they were doing God's ser
vice, and wondered why the earnest Christians who dwelt about
them should regard the inhabitants of the Mission House with
such open aversion and apparent hate. It must have seemed
strange to these fresh young believers to see the seats of the
churches in the town, in front and rear of where they sat, upon
the sabbath, vacated by the most devout of God's people in
Verdenton. They wondered at it for a time, and then blamed
the good people of Verdenton, and thought ill of their religion ;
when it was not the good people who were at fault, nor their
religion, but only the civilization of which they were the out
come. There was never a kindlier, more hospitable, or more
religious people on the footstool, than those of Verdenton;
only they were kind according to their notion, as everybody else
is ; hospitable according to custom, like the rest of the world ;
and religious according to education and tradition, as are
other people : and the disjointure of opinion between them and
the Yankee schoolmarms was all because the latter wanted
to measure them by Northern ideas of these virtues, instead
of accepting those they found there. Sometimes they wrote
indignant letters to their friends at home ; but it was fortu
nate that the greater part of the evil things which were said of
them by the neighboring Christians never came to their knowl
edge, and that their hearts were too pure to comprehend the
•foul innuendoes which floated by them. So they went on teach
ing, as they had been taught, those who had been all their lives
thitherto untaught ; and the others went on hating and defam
ing them because such a course was counter to their traditions,

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO. 105

and those who did it were their hereditary enemies. And both,
no doubt, felt that they were doing God's service with their
might.

Servosse found a cordon of watchers about the schoolhouse,
by one of whom he was challenged, and, after learning who he
was, taken to the house, where he was carefully examined to
ascertain whether he were a member or not; after which he was
admitted into the room where the meeting was held. It was a
large classroom in the second story, capable of seating, perhaps,
two hundred people. It was about half full when he arrived,
as the meeting had not yet been called to order ; and constant
arrivals were fast increasing the number. The great bulk of
those who were present were colored men ; but in a little group
at the right of the platform were perhaps a dozen white men.

The Fool found himself well known to all those present,
though he had not yet acquired the power readily to distinguish
and retain the countenances of colored people. As he ad
vanced into the room, he was met with numerous and delighted
greetings, to which he responded pleasantly, without, in most
instances, recognizing those who gave them. Near the center
of the room, however, he was met by Uncle Jerry, who, bowing
ceremoniously, waved his hand toward the knot of white men,
as he exclaimed, —

" Evenin', Mars Kunnel. Sarvant, sah ! We's glad to see
ye wid us, — powerful glad! Ye knows dese gentlemen, I
s'pose. Mr. Durfee, Kunnel 'Vosse; Mr. Morgin, Kunnel
'Vosse. But you knows 'em all, Kunnel ; I sees dat," said the
old man, as Comfort clasped the hand of one after another,
some of whom he was prepared to meet, and others of whom he
was surprised to see there. Among the former was Durfee, a
young man who belonged to a family of the strongest Union
proclivities, who had faced far more danger in resisting and
avoiding conscription than he would have been required to
meet in the field.

" Ah ! " said he warmly, as he clasped the hand of the Union
colonel, " I'm glad to see you. I've a friend here to-night that
I want to introduce to you. Mr. Walters, Colonel Servosse,'

106 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

he said, as he turned toward a slender, wiry-looking man, with
sloping shoulders, a long neck, and arms which seemed to
twine about, regardless of the usual articulations. His brown
hair was cut short, and rose in a sort of bristling row above his
narrow, reddish face. The mouth was pinched, the nose some
what prominent, and the aspect of the countenance somewhat
sharp. The eyes were keen, but rather sunken and close, and
of a light gray. His age seemed to be about thirty-five.

" Mr. Walters," said Durfee, " was one of our stanchest Union
men. I knew him all through the war. Strangely enough,
he did not hide out, nor hold an office, nor take a contract."

" How in the world did you keep out of the army ? " asked
Servosse.

"I hardly know," answered Walters pleasantly. "I think
it was my health mainly."

"Ha, ha, ha!" broke in Durfee. "Your health, did you
say? I vow I b'leve you're right. — He had better health, and
more of it, during the war, than any man I know of, Colonel."

" I don't understand how he kept out, then," said Servosse.

" There ain't anybody that I ever met that does understand it,"
said Durfee. " He was living in Rockford when the war began,
in business, making money, and a member of the Methodist
Church. He wanted to go away at the first ; but his wife said
she didn't want to leave her people : so John Walters staid
right where he was, and went on trading, and minding his own
business, the same as before. After a while, when things begun
to get hot, there was some talk among the town loafers about
his going to the army. Then he spoke out, and said that he was
a Union man, and didn't never calculate to be any thing else.
He shouldn't do any fighting against the government willingly,
and they'd better not try to make him do it unwillingly.
Things kep' gittin' hotter an' hotter; the conscript laws kep'
growing closer an' closer : but John Walters was right there in
Rockford, a-tradin' an' 'tendin' to his own business, the same as
ever. A good deal was said about it; because he was just the
same Union man as ever, never saying any thing about the
matter unless tackled on it, and then giving as good as was

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO. 107

gent. It got noised around somehow that he had said, that, if
he was compelled to go, the man whom he thought at the bot
tom of it would be in some danger. He wasn't no man to
trifle with, and so he went on unmolested. Finally a young
conscript officer came to the town, and talked pretty loud about
what he would do. Some things he said came to Walters's ears ;
and he went over to see him, carryin' a walking-stick in his
hand. They met on the porch. I never knew what passed ;
b.ut a man who saw it told me that the officer drew his pistol,
an' another man caught Walters's right arm. I don't reckon
anybody knows just how it was done, — not even Walters him
self. They were all there in a crowd ; but when it broke up
Walters had the pistol, the officer had a bullet somewhere
through his jaw, another man had a broken arm, and another
had somehow tumbled off the porch and sprained his foot, so that
he could not walk for a month. Walters was the only one un
hurt. He reported here next day ; was examined by a medical
board, and somehow pronounced unfit for duty. He went home
a few days afterwards with his exemption-papers all in due
form, and in fact they never did get him. Of course, he was
prosecuted and bedeviled; but when the war was over there
was John Walters, — just where he was when it begun."

" That is a very unusual experience, Mr. Walters," said the
colonel, turning towards him as Durfee concluded.

"Yes," said Walters modestly: "I was very fortunate. I
looked poorly, as I always have, and I did not push myself
into difficulty. They knew if I went that I would desert, and
go into the Union lines the first chance I got: so there was no
use of sending me to the front. But I had a much easier time
than Durfee or a half-dozen others here. Why, there is a
man, Colonel, who lived in an excavation under his house for
eighteen months. There is another who staid for five months
under a cedar-tree which grew all alone on the top of a hill
within two hundred yards of the big road. There's two others
who were of a party of seven who hid from the conscript
hunters in a cave on Martin Holbrook's land, which they dug
out of the side of a creek, and up into the bank above, when

108 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

the water was out of the pond. When the gate was shut down,
and the water rose, they had to dive like otters to get into their
hole."

" That's good enough material for a Union League, isn't it,
Colonel V " asked Durfee.

"I should think so, indeed, if they are all like that," answered
Servosse.

" That's the trouble," said Walters quickly, but without any
change in his countenance, except to turn, and glance at one
who had stepped upon the platform, and was preparing to open
the meeting as its president.

" Never could trust him during the war," continued Walters
in the same tone. " We had a sort of society, or rather a set
of signals, which every one gave to his friend if he thought he
could be trusted. If you served along the Tennessee or Georgia
lines, you probably heard of it."

" Often, both before and since the surrender," said Servosse.
"You mean the ' Red Strings,' I suppose."

" Yes, that's what I mean. People talk of them as if they
•were a society, a league, an order ; but they were not. It was
only a carefully devised set of signals of different kinds, which
one Union man gave to another. There was no organization,
no head, no official direction. All there was about it was, that
it enabled persons of a common purpose to recognize each other.
A bit of red string in the hat or in a buttonhole was the most
ordinary symbol. This was adopted from the account given in
the Book of Joshua of the red cord that Rahab let down from
the wall, by direction of the spies whom she had succored, in
order that her household might be saved from spoliation when
the city was captured."

" I suppose there were a good many of them," said Servosse,
"from what I have heard."

" The meetin' will come to order," commanded the president
in a thin, stridulous voice, as he rapped upon the rough deal
table with one of the teacher's rulers instead of a gavel. The
room was crowded by this time, and an instantaneous hush fell
tipon the dusky crowd at this command. Every one sank intq

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO. 109

his seat, and those who had no other seats ranged themselves
in front and along the aisles upon the noor. About the little
group of white men was an open space ; and immediately in
front of the president was a small table, draped with a Union
flag, and surmounted by a Bible and the Constitution of the
United States.

"The officers will take their appointed stations," said the
president. i

Then the ceremonies of opening the meeting went on. Each
officer was instructed as to his duty ; and the general principles
of the order were recapitulated in easy dialogue between them
and the president.

" Will Colonel Servosse conduct the religious exercises? "
asked the president.

Thus called upon, the ex-Union soldier arose, and approached
the altar. Remembering the allusion made to the Book of
Joshua in his conversation with Walters, he opened the Bible,
and read the second chapter of that book, and called upon Uncle
Jerry to pray. All stood reverentially silent during prayer,
and then the business of the meeting went on. Names were
proposed for membership, committees reported on former propo
sitions, and the usual business of a secret order was disposed
of. There was much awkwardness, no little bad grammar, but
the most attent interest, and an evident pride and desire to im
prove, on the part of all. Resuming his seat by Walters, Ser
vosse watched the proceedings with interest, while he continued
in a low tone the conversation begun with him before the
opening.

" You were asking if there were a good many of the ' Red
Strings,'" said Walters. " I am sure I don't know. I traveled
a good deal about the Confederacy, and I didn't find no place
where there weren't some. I've met 'em in the streets of Rich
mond, and seen 'em standing guard on the wall of a military
prison. The number, however, is merely a matter of estimate,
as there was no head nor organization, no system of reports, and
no means of knowing how many were initiated. It was slightly
different in some sections from others, but sufficiently alike to

110 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

convince me that it all came from a common source. Some
times a fellow would tell what he knew; but he never knew
much. He could only say that he knew a few men, and sus
pected more. Then we would change the signs and words, and
go right on again. There being no lodges, nor lists of members,
one man could do but little harm."

" Is the League organized to any great extent in the South? *"
asked Comfort.

" I don't know," responded Walters. " Just before the close
of the war, I went up into East Tennessee on a little business
that took rne through the lines, and I joined it there. I don't
like it."

« Why not? "

" It's too cumbrous. Our people ain't educated enough to
run it well. Besides that, I don't like these big meetings."

" But is it not an educator for the colored men? "

" I've thought of that, and it's the great redeeming feature
of the institution. I'm thinking we shall need something more
practical, and that don't make so much show, before we have
done with the matters rising out of the war."

" You do not take a hopeful view of the future, then? "

" Well, that depends altogether on the view of the present
that the government and the Northern people take. If they
get the notion that rebellion has transformed those engaged in
it into sanctified and glorified saints, as they seem in a way to
do, why, the war will not amount to any certain sum, so far as
liberty and progress are concerned. Then Union men an'
niggers will have to hunt their holes, and will be worse off in
fact than they were during the war. I'm 'fraid it's going to
be so, Colonel ; and I feel as if I ought to go to the West, where
I and my children can be free and safe."

" I hope you will not think of that, Mr. Walters," said the
Fool.

" Well, I have thought of it strongly ; but I have decided to
stay," was the reply, " chiefly because so many of you Northern
men have come down here. I think, that, if you can stand it,
I can. At least, I don't think we native Unionists ought to
Trun away, and leave you."

CITIZENS IN EMBRYO. Ill

" You were speaking about the president," said Comfort sug*
gestively.

" Well," laughed Walters, "I didn't mean that there was any
danger in him. He was every thing to all men during the war,
and will be any thing to anybody until the end of time, if it
will butter bread for Tommy Sanderson."

A dozen dusky candidates were instructed in the semi-public
secrets of the order ; one or two songs were sung with great
enthusiasm; a few addresses were made; and the meeting
adjourned. As he rode back through the moonlit woods to
Warrington, the Fool recounted what he had seen to Metta, —
who had come with him, and stopped at the Mission-House,
visiting with the teachers while the meeting was in progress, —
and told her that it gave him more hope for a peaceful and
prosperous future than any thing he had yet seen. The enthu
siasm of a soldier for his colors had not yet died out in his
breast ; and he could not conceive that any organization which
cultivated only an unbounded devotion for the flag in the breasts
of the embryotic citizens, and kept alive the fire of patriotism
in the hearts of the old Union element, should be a source of
evil to any one. If he could have seen what an affront such
a meeting. in itself was to his neighbors, what an insult it was
to them to flaunt the flag of the Union in their faces while that
of the Confederacy, equally dear to them, was yet unforgotten,
he would have thought differently. If he had realized how the
touch of those dusky hands fouled that gay banner in the
thought of so many of his white neighbors, if he had but
known what tears they would be called to shed for having
sung those patriot songs, his heart would have been sad indeed.
But he saw no grim portents, and heeded 110 omen of evil.

112 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XX.

OUT OF DUE SEASON.

WHAT is called the period of " Reconstruction " came at
last ; and in tracing our Fool's story it will be necessary to
give some brief attention to this era of our nation's history.
It is a short story as one reads it now. Its facts are few and
plain. There is no escape from them. They were graven on
the hearts of millions with a burning stylus. Short as is the
story, it is full of folly and of shame. Regarded with what
ever charity, folly and cowardice appear as its chief elements ;
and it has already borne too bitter a harvest of crime to believe
that the future holds enough of good springing from its gloom
to make it ever tolerable to the historian. Let us as briefly as
possible retrace its essential features.

At the close of the great war of the Rebellion these condi
tions presented themselves to the statesmen of the land: — the
hostile army was dispersed ; the opposing governmental forms
were disrupted; the Confederacy had set in a night which
was declared to be eternal, and its component elements — the
subordinate governments or states of which it had been com
posed — were dissolved.

The North, that portion of the country which for four
years had constituted alone the United States of America,
was full of rejoicing and gladness, which even the death of its
martyr President could not long repress. Sorrow for the dead
was lost in joy for the living. Banners waved ; drums beat ;
and the quick step of homeward-marching columns echoed
through every corner of the land. The clamor of rejoicing
drowned the sighs of those who wept for their unreturning
dead. All was light and joy, and happy, peaceful anticipation.
The soldier had no need to beat his spear into a plowshare,
or his sword into a pruning-hook. He found the plow wait-

OUT OF DUE SEASON. 113

ing for him in the furrow. Smiling, peaceful homes, full of
plenty and comfort, invited him to new exertion; and the
prospect of rich returns for his labor enabled him all the more
easily to forgive and forget, to let bygones be bygones, and
throwing away the laurels, and forgetting the struggles and
lessons of the past, contentedly grow fat on the abundance of
the present and the glowing promise of the future.

At the South it was far different. Sadness and gloom
covered the face of the land. The returning braves brought
no joy to the loving hearts who had sent them forth. Nay, their
very presence kept alive the chagrin of defeat. Instead of
banners and music and gay greeting, silence and tears were
their welcome home. Not only for the dead were these lam
entations, but also for the living. If the past was sorrow
ful, the future was scarcely less so. If that which went be
fore was imbittered by disappointment and the memory of
vain sacrifice, that which was to come was darkened with
uncertainty and apprehension. The good things of the past
were apples of Sodom in the hand of the present. The miser's
money was as dust of the highway in value ; the obligor, in
his indefinite promise to pay, had vanished, and the hoarder
only had a gray piece of paper stamped with the fair pledge of
a ghostly nation. The planter's slaves had become freedmen
while he was growing into a hero, arid no longer owed fealty or
service to him or his family. The home where he had lived in
luxury was almost barren of necessities : even the ordinary
comforts of life were wanting at his fireside. A piece of corn-
bread, with a glass of milk, and bit of bacon, was, perhaps, the
richest welcome-feast that wifely love could devise for the re
turning hero. Time and the scath of war had wrought ruin in
his home. The hedgerows were upgrown, and the ditches
stopped. Those whom he had been wont to see in delicate
array were clad in homespun. His loved ones who had been
reared in luxury were living in poverty. While he had fought,
interest had run. War had not extinguished debt. What
was a mere bagatelle when slaves and stocks were at their
highest was a terrible incubus when slaves were no more, and

114 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

banks were broken. The army of creditors was even more
terrible than the army with banners, to whom he had sur
rendered. If the past was dark, the future was Cimmerian.
Shame and defeat were behind, gloom and apprehension
before.

Here and there throughout the subjugated land were de
tachments and posts of the victorious army, gradually growing
smaller and fewer as the months slipped by. The forerunners
of trade appeared before the smoke of battle had fairly cleared
away. After a little, groups of Northern men settled, to engage
in commerce, or to till the soil. The cotton and tobacco which
remained of the slender crops of the years of war brought
fabulous prices. The hope of their continuance was the one
bright spot in the future.

The freedmen, dazed with new-found liberty, crowded the
towns and camps, or wandered aimlessly here and there.
Hardly poorer than their late masters, they were better pre
pared for poverty. They had been indurated to want, exposure,
and toil. Slavery had been a hard school; but in it they had
learned more than one lesson which was valuable to them now.
They could endure the present better than their old masters'
families, and had never learned to dread the future.

So a part of the re-united country was in light, and the
other part in darkness, and between the two was a zone of
bloody graves.

The question for the wise was : How shall this be made
light, without darkening that ? Not an easy question for the
wisest and bravest; one which was sure of no solution, or
only the ill one of chance or mischance, as the Fates might
direct, at the hands of vanity, folly, and ambition.

For two years there were indecision and bickering and cross-
purposes and false promises. The South waited sullenly ; the
Nprth wonderingly.

There were four plans proposed : —

The first was, that the State machinery of the ante helium
days iu. the lately denationalized sections should be set in
motion, and the re-organized communities restored to their

OUT OF DUE SEASON. 115

former positions without change, except as to individuals;
just as you renew a wheel in a worn-out clock, and, starting
the pendulum, set it again to its work.

This, without unnecessary verbiage, was the President's plan.
It would have done no harm if he had been content to suggest
it merely ; but he tried to carry it into execution, and thereby
not only endangered himself, but raised hopes which he could
not satisfy, and sowed the seeds of discontent with whatsoever
.might be done afterwards.

The second scheme was a makeshift, inspired by fright at
what had been done, and a desire to avoid what must be done.
Emancipation had left four millions of people in most anoma
lous relations to the other five or six millions under whom
they had been enslaved. They were a new and troublesome
element. They must be taken care of by their liberators, or
abandoned. This plan was devised in the hope of finding
a way to escape doing either. It was, in short, to allow the
vagrant States to come back into the national fold, shorn of
such strength as they might lose by deducting from their repre
sentation the ratio of representative power formerly allowed
to the non-voting colored race, unless the same should be en
franchised by their organic law.

The South, which had been led by the foolish usurpative
acts of the President to expect an unconditional restoration,
rejected this proposition with scorn. They regarded it as an
attempt to bribe them into the acceptance of the results of
emancipation by the offer of power as a reward for their con
currence. Such a view can not be claimed to have been
illogical.

The third plan, which remains to be considered, was of a
different character. It neither shirked nor temporized. It
accepted the past, and sought to guarantee the future. It did
not regard immediate re-organization of the recently rebellious
communities upon a Federal basis, as necessary or desirable.
Without seeking vengeance, it took warning from what had
been, and sought to prevent a recurrence of evil. It recog
nized the fact that a doctrine which had been known as State

116 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

Sovereignty was at the root of the evil, and that the nation
had taken a race from bondage which it was morally bound
to prepare for freedom. So it proposed that the States which
had been in the infected region should be quietly left to
molder in the grave of rebellion, — the bed they had them
selves prepared ; that the region they once embraced should be
divided up into Territories without regard to former statal
lines, and so remain for a score of years under national con
trol, but without power to mold or fashion the national
legislation — until time should naturally and thoroughly have
healed the breaches of the past, till commerce had become
re-established, and the crude ideas of the present had been
clarified by the light of experience. It recognized as an unde
niable fact the idea that men who had gazed into each other's
faces over gleaming gun-barrels, by the fateful blaze of
battle, were not so fit to adjust the questions arising out of the
conflict as those yet unborn. It was based upon the fact, too,
that the slave was not made fit for unrestrained political power
by the simple fact of freedom. Slavery might be ended as a
legal status by proclamation, but as a living fact it could not.
The hands could be unshackled by a constitutional amend
ment; but heart and brain must have an opportunity to expand,
before the freedman could be capable of automatic liberty.

To this doctrine the Fool subscribed all the more readily,
because he thought he saw the exemplification of its princi
ples about him day by day. Besides that, he thought it only
fair and honest that the government which had cut the freed
man loose from slavery should watch over him until he could
walk erect in his new estate.

The second Christinas in his new home had come before
any thing was done; then a plan was adopted which was a
compromise among all these ideas. This was the fourth
plan. It was not selected because those who chose it deemed
it the best manner for settling the ills with which the body
politic had been afflicted; not at all. No one can be so
simple-minded as to believe that. The/ar future was very dim
to the legislators' eyes when they adopted it : the near future

OUT OF DUE SEASON. 117

was what they dreaded. A great election was at hand. The
President and his supporters were going to the country on
his plan of reconstruction. When the Congress threatened
impeachment, he sought for justification at the ballot-box.
Some plan must be devised with which to meet him. What
should it be? The logic which carries elections answered,
" One on which all who are opposed to the presidential plan
in the North can be induced to unite." From this womb of
party necessity and political insincerity came forth this abor
tion, or, rather, this monster, doomed to parricide in the hour
of its birth.

Like all compromises, it had the evils of all the plans from
which its pieces came, and the merits of none of them. The
coward, who, running with his conscience and holding with his
fear, makes a compromise by taking the head of one thought
and the tail of another, is sure to get the wrong ends of both.

Added to this was the very remarkable fact that this
plan, in common with two of the discarded ones, took no ac
count of that strange and mysterious influence which ranges
all the way from a religious principle to a baseless prejudice,
according to the stand-point of the observer, but always
remains a most unaccountable yet still stubborn fact in all
that pertains to the governmental organisms of the South,
— the popular feeling in regard to the African population
of that section. That a servile race, isolated from the domi
nant one by the fact of color and the universally accepted
dogma of inherent inferiority, to say nothing of a very general
belief of its utter incapacity for the civilization to which the
Caucasian has attained, should be looked on with distrust and
aversion, if not with positive hatred, as a co-ordinate political
power, by their former masters, would seem so natural, that one
could hardly expect men of ordinary intelligence to overlook it.
That this should arouse a feeling of very intense bitterness
when it came as the result of conquest, and the freedom en
joyed by the subject-race was inseparably linked with the
memory of loss and humiliation in the mind of the master,
would se'em equally apparent. But when to these facts was

118 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

added the knowledge that whoever should advocate such an
elevation of the blacks, in that section, was certain to be
regarded as putting himself upon their social level in a com
munity where the offender against caste becomes an outlaw in
fact, it seems impossible that the wise men of that day should
have been so blind as not to have seen that they were doing
the utmost possible injury to the colored race, the country, and
themselves, by propounding a plan of re-organization which
depended for its success upon the effective and prosperous ad
ministration of state governments by this class, in connection
with the few of the dominant race, who, from whatever motives,
might be willing to put themselves on the same level with
them in the estimation of their white neighbors. Of these
there could be but the following classes : martyrs, who were
willing to endure ostracism and obloquy for the sake of prin
ciple; self-seekers, who were willing to do or be any thing and
every thing for the sake of power, place, and gain; and fools,
who hoped that in some inscrutable way the laws of human
nature would be suspended, or that the state of affairs at first
presenting itself would be but temporary. The former class,
it might have been known, would naturally be small. Martyrs
do not constitute any large proportion of any form or state of
society. Especially were they not to be looked for in a section
where public opinion had been dominated by an active and
potent minority, until independent thought upon certain sub
jects had been utterly strangled. Self-seekers, on the contrary,
those who can be swayed by motives of interest or ambition,
regardless alike of principle and the approbation of those by
whom they are surrounded, are to be found in all ranks and
classes ; while fools who have stamina enough to swim for any
great time against a strong popular current are not to be looked
for in any great numbers in any ordinary community.

HOW THE WISE MEN BUILDS D. 119

CHAPTER XXL

HOW THE WISE MEN BUILDED.

So it must have been well understood by the wise men who
devised this short-sighted plan of electing a President beyond
a peradventure of defeat, that they were giving the power of
the re-organized, subordinate republics, into the hands of a
race unskilled in public affairs, poor to a degree hardly to be
matched in the civilized world, and so ignorant that not five out
of a hundred of its voters could read their own ballots, joined
with such Adullamites among the native whites as might be
willing to face a proscription which would shut the house of
God in the face of their families, together with the few men
of Northern birth, resident in that section since the close of
the war, — either knaves or fools, or partaking of the nature
of both, — who might elect to become permanent citizens, and
join in the movement.

Against them was to be pitted the wealth, the intelligence,
the organizing skill, the pride, and the hate of a people whom
it had taken four years to conquer in open fight when their
enemies outnumbered them three to one, who were animated
chiefly by the apprehension of what seemed now about to be
forced upon them by this miscalled measure of " Reconstruc
tion ; " to wit, the equality of the negro race.

It was done, too, in the face of the fact that within the pre
ceding twelvemonth the white people of the South, by their
representatives in the various Legislatures of the Johnsonian
period, had absolutely refused to recognize this equality, even
in the slightest matters, by refusing to allow the colored people to
iestify in courts of justice against white men, or to protect their
rights of person and property in any manner from the avarice,
lust, or brutality of their white neighbors. It was done in the
very face of the " Black Codes," which were the first enact-

120 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

ments of Provisional Legislatures, and which would have
established a serfdom more complete than that of the Russian
steppes before the ukase of Alexander.

And the men who devised this plan called themselves
honest and wise statesmen. More than one of them has since
then hugged himself in gratulation under the belief, that, by
his co-operation therein, he had cheaply achieved an immor
tality of praise from the liberty-lovers of the earth ! After
having forced a proud people to yield what they had for more
than two centuries considered a right, — the right to hold the
African race in bondage, — they proceeded to outrage a feeling
as deep and fervent as the zeal of Islam or the exclusiveness
of Hindoo caste, by giving to the ignorant, unskilled, and
dependent race — a race who could not have lived a week
without the support or charity of the dominant one — equali
ty of political right ! Not content with this, they went farther,
and, by erecting the rebellious territory into self-regulating
and sovereign States, they abandoned these parties like cocks
in a pit, to fight out the question of predominance without
the possibility of national interference. They said to the
colored man, in the language of one of the pseudo-philosophers
of that day, " Root, hog, or die ! "

It was cheap patriotism, cheap philanthropy, cheap success !

Yet it had its excuse, which we are bound to set forth. The
North and the South had been two households in one house —
two nations under one name. The intellectual, moral, and social
life of each had been utterly distinct and separate from that
of the other. They no more understood or appreciated each
other's feelings or development than John Chinaman compre
hends the civilization of John Bull. It is true they spoke the
same language, used the same governmental forms, and, most
unfortunately, thought they comprehended each other's ideas.
Each thought they knew the thought and purpose of the other
better than the thinker knew his own. The Northern man
despised his Southern fellow-citizen in bulk, as a good-natured
braggadocio, mindful of his own ease, fond of power and dis
play, and with no animating principle which could in any

HOW THE WISE MEN BUILDED.

121

manner interfere with his interest. The Southern man de
spised his Northern compeer as cold-blooded, selfish, hypocriti
cal, cowardly, and envious.

This is how they played at cross-purposes, each thinking
that he knew the other's heart far better than he sought to
know his own.

ANTE BELLUM.

NORTHERN IDEA OF SLAVERY. SOUTHERN IDEA OF SLAVERY.

Slavery is wrong morally, po
litically, and economically. It
is tolerated only for the sake of
peace and quiet. The negro is
a man, and has equal inherent
rights with the white race.

The negro is fit only for slavery.
It is sanctioned by the Bible, and
it must be right; or, if not exactly
right, is unavoidable, now that
the race is among us. We can
not live with them iu any other
condition.

NORTHERN IDEA OF THE SOUTH
ERN IDEA.

Those Southern fellows know
that slavery is wrong, and incom
patible with the theory of our gov
ernment ; but it is a good thing
for them. They grow fat and
rich, and have a good time, on ac
count of it; and no one can blame
them for not wanting to give it up.

SOUTHERN IDEA OF THE NORTH
ERN IDEA.

Those Yankees are jealous be
cause we make slavery profitable,
raising cotton and tobacco, and
want to deprive us of our slaves
from envy. They don't believe
a word of what they say about its
being wrong, except a few fanat
ics. The rest are all hypocrites.

POST BELLUM.

THE NORTHERN IDEA OF THE
SITUATION.

The negroes are free now, and
must have a fair chance to make
themselves something. What is
claimed about their inferiority
may be true. It is not likely to
approve itself, but, true or false,
they have a right to equality be-

THE SOUTHERN IDEA OF THE
SITUATION.

We have lost our slaves, our
bank stock, every thing, by the
war. We have been beaten, and
have honestly surrendered : slave
ry is gone, of course. The slave
is now free, but he is not white.
We have no ill will towards the

lore the law. That is what the colored man as such and in his

122

A FOODS ERRAND.

war meant, and this must be
secured to them. The rest they
must get as they can, or do with
out, as they choose.

THE NORTHERN IDEA OF THE
SOUTHERN IDEA.

Now that the negro is a voter,
the Southern people will have to
treat him well, because they will
need his vote. The negro will
remain true to the government
and party which gave him liberty,
and in order to secure its preser
vation. Enough of the Southern
whites will go with them, for the
sake of office and power, to en
able thcan to retain permanent
control of those States for an in
definite period. The negroes will
go to work, and things will grad
ually adjust themselves. The
South has no right to complain.
They would have the negroes as
slaves, kept the country in con
stant turmoil for the sake of
them, brought on the war be
cause we would not catch their
runaways, killed a million of
men ; and now they can not
complain if the very weapon by
which they held power is turned
against them, and is made the
means of righting the wrongs
which they have themselves cre
ated. It maybe hard; but they
will learn to do better hereafter.

place ; but he is not our equal,
can not be made our equal, and
we will not be ruled by him, or
admit him as a co-ordinate with
the white race in power. We
have no objection to his voting, so
long as he votes as his old mas
ter, or the man for whom he
labors, advises him; but, when
he chooses to vote differently, he
must take the consequences.

THE SOUTHERN IDEA OF THE
NORTHERN IDEA.

The negro is made a voter sim
ply to degrade and disgrace the
white people of the South. The
North cares nothing about the
negro as a man, but only enfran
chises him in order to humiliate
and enfeeble us. Of course, it
makes no difference to the people
of the North whether he is a
voter or not. There are so few
colored men there, that there is
no fear of one of them being elect
ed to office, going to the Legis
lature, or sitting on the bench.
The whole purpose of the meas
ure is to insult and degrade. But
only wait until the States are
restored and the " Blue Coats "
are out of the way, and we will
show them their mistake.

HOW THE WISE MEN BUILDED. 123

There was just enough of truth in each of these estimates of
the other's characteristics to mislead. The South, as a mass,
was honest in its belief of the righteousness of slavery, both
morally and politically. The North, in like manner, was
equally honest in its conviction with regard to the wickedness
of slavery, and its inconsistency with republican institutions ;
yet neither credited the .other with honesty. The South was
right in believing that the North cared little or nothing for the
negro as' a man, but wrong in the idea that the theory of political
equality and manhood suffrage was invented or imposed from
any thought of malice, revenge, or envy toward the South. The
wish to degrade did not enter into the Northern mind in this
connection. The idea that " of one blood are all the nations
of the earth," and that "race, color, or previous condition of
servitude," can not be allowed to affect the legal or political
rights of any, was a living principle in the Northern mind, as
little capable of suppression as the sentiment of race-antago
nism by which it was met, and whose intensity it persistently
discredited.

There was another thing which the wise men who were
rebuilding the citadel of Liberty in such hot haste quite
forgot. In judging of the South, and predicting its future
course, they pictured it to themselves as the North would
be with an infusion, so to speak, of newly-enfranchised
blacks amounting to one-third of its aggregate population:
in other words, they accounted the result of emancipation
as the only differential feature by which the South was dis
tinguishable from the North. They did not estimate aright
the effects, upon the white people of the South, of an essen
tially different civilization and development. They said,
"The South has heretofore differed from the North only in
the institution of slavery. That is now removed ; only the
freedmen remain as a sign of its existence : therefore, the
South is as the North would be with this element added to
its population." It was a strange mistake. The ideas of
generations do not perish in an hour. Divergent civilizations
can not be made instantly identical by uprooting a single
institution.

124 A, FOOL'S ERRAND.

Among the peculiarities which marked the difference be-
tween Northern and Southern society was one so distinct and
evident, one which had been so often illustrated in our political
history, that it seems almost impossible that shrewd observers
of that history should for a moment have overlooked or under
estimated it. This is the influence of family position, social
rank, or political prominence. Leadership, in the sense of a
blind, unquestioning following of a man, without his being the
peculiar exponent of an idea, is a thing almost unknown at
the North : at the South it is a power. Every family there
has its clientelage, its followers, who- rally to its lead as
quickly, and with almost as unreasoning a faith, as the old
Scottish clansmen, summoned by the burning cross. By me'ans
of this fact slavery had been perpetuated for fifty years. It
was through this peculiarity that secession and rebellion be
came dominant there. This fact seems to have been dimly
recognized, though not at all understood or appreciated, by
those who originated what are known as the Reconstruction
Acts. They seem to have supposed, that, if this class were
deprived of actual political position, they would thereby be
shorn of political influence: so it was provided that all who
had any such prominence as to have been civil or military
officers before the war, and had afterwards engaged in rebel
lion, should not be allowed to vote, or hold office, until relieved
from such disability.

It was a fatal mistake. The dead leader has always more
followers than his living peer. Every henchman of those
lordlings at whom this blow was aimed felt it far more keenly
than he would if it had lighted on his own cheek. The king
of every village was dethroned; the magnate of every cross
roads was degraded. Henceforward, each and every one of
rheir satellites was bound to eternal hostility toward these
measures and to all that might result therefrom.

So the line of demarkation was drawn. Upon the one side
were found only those who constituted what was termed re
spectable people, — the bulk of those of the white race who had
ruled the South in ante bellum days, who had fostered slavery,

HOW THE WISE MEN BUILDED. 125

and been fattened by it, who had made it the dominant power
in the nation, together with the mass of those whose courage
and capacity had organized rebellion, and led the South in that
marvelous struggle for separation. On the other side were the
pariahs of the land, to designate the different classes of which,
three \vords were used: "Niggers," the newly-enfranchised
African voters ; " Scalawags," the native whites who were
willing to accept the reconstruction measures ; and " Carpet-
. baggers," all men of Northern birth, resident in the South,
who should elect to speak or act in favor of such reconstruc
tion.

The Jmn of proscription spared neither age nor sex, and was
never relaxed. In business or pleasure, in friendship or reli
gion, in the market or the church, it was omnipotent. Men
were excluded from the Lord's Communion for establishing
sabbath schools for colored people. Those who did not curse
the measure, its authors, and the government by which it was
administered, were henceforth shunned as moral and social
lepers. The spirit of the dead Confederacy was stronger than
the mandate of the nation to which it had succumbed in battle.

The " scalawags " were few. Those who could brave the
torrent of proscription poured upon them by that society which
had been their boast as the most excellent on earth were not
many. For a time, the instincts of what was termed "Union
ism" either held some of the former political leaders in the
background, or led them to affiliate somewhat coolly with the
party of reconstruction. The " Union " of 1861 was, however,
a very different thing from that of a half-dozen years later.
The advocacy of a simple coherence of the States under one
formal government was all that distinguished the "Unionist"
of 1861 from his " Secessionist " neighbor, who favored the
expurgation of " E pluribus unum" and would write instead,
"Ex uno duo." Their views on all other subjects were in thor
ough harmony. It was only on this point that they differed.
It was a stubborn and a radical difference, however, for which
thousands of them had laid down their lives, and others suffered
untold miseries and persecutions ; for the gentlemen of the

126 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

South were harsh masters, and did not permit dissent from
their political views to be entertained or expressed with impu
nity. Those Union men who really maintained their integrity
and devotion to the Federal Union through the war, and em
braced the republican view at its close, were, consequently,
mostly of that class who are neither rich nor poor, who were
land-owners, but not slave-owners. The few who were of the
higher class had been so completely shut out from the intellec
tual movements of the North during those momentous years,
that, as a rule, they were utterly confounded at the result
which was before them. They had looked for the nation to
come back to them, when its power was re-established, abso
lutely unchanged and unmodified. It came back, instead, with
a new impetus, a new life, born of the stormy years that had
intervened, putting under its feet the old issues which had
divided parties, scornful of ancient statesmanship, and mocking
the graybeards who had been venerated as sages in " the good
old days of the Republic."

But for those Southern men, who, knowing and realizing all
these changes, facing all these dangers and discomforts, recog
nizing the inexorable logic of events, and believing in and
desiring to promote the ultimate good which must flow there
from, in good faith accepted the arbitrament of war, and
staked their " lives, fortunes, and sacred honor," in support of
this new dispensation of liberty, words enough of praise can
not be found ! Nor yet words enough of scorn for their asso
ciates and affiliates of the North, who not only refused them
the meed of due credit for their self-sacrifice and devotion, but
also made haste to visit them with coolness, indignity, and dis
crediting contempt, because they did not perform the impossi
ble task which the Wise men had imposed upon them. Phari-
seeism is by no means admirable in its best estate ; but the
genuine article is far less despicable than the spurious.

Another peculiarity of this remarkable scheme was, that,
while it professed to punish one class by excluding them from
the ballot (a punishment which had only the effect to enrage),
it made no offer of encouragement or reward to those who had

HOW THE WISE MEN BUILDED. 127

stood the fast friends of the nation in the hour of its peril.
The ingratitude of republics is the tritest of thoughts, but
there never was a more striking illustration of its verity. Per
haps no nation ever before, after the suppression of a rebellion
which threatened its life, quite forgot the claims of those who
had been its friends in the disaffected region.

There were throughout the South thousands of men who
were Unionists pure and simple. As a rule, they had no sym
pathy with the antislavery idea which had come to permeate
the whole mental life of the North. Slavery was to them as
much a matter of course as any event of their every-day
life. Very many of them were hereditary slave-owners. The
inferiority, inherent and fore-ordained, of the colored man,
was as much an article of faith with them as any portion of
the Sacred Word. Not only this, but they believed with
equal sincerity that the normal and proper sphere of the
inferior race was slavery. They might regret its abuses, that
there should be cruel and ruthless masters and brutal over
seers, just as they did when an up-country teamster abused
his overloaded horses; but they were no more troubled with
qualms of conscience in regard to the enslavement of the one
than as to the driving of the other. Such a man was in favor
of the Union from a profound conviction of its glory, a tradi
tional patriotism, or a belief that secession and disunion would
be ruinous and fatal; but he did not look for or desire the
abolition of slavery in bulk or as an institution. His attach
ment to the Union \vas an absorbing devotion to an abstract
idea. He had no hostility to the ultimate object of secession,
— the security and perpetuity of slavery, — but only to the
means by which it was accomplished. He worshiped the
Union ; but it was the Union with slavery, except as the right
to hold slaves might be forfeited by rebellion ; which forfeiture
he believed would be purely personal, and would affect only
those actually guilty of rebellious acts. Such was the position
of the Southern Unionist at the beginning of the war. Some
receded from it as the struggle progressed; but many thou
sands held to their faith in spite of every persuasion and per-

128 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

secution which could be brought against them. The heroism
of many of these men was fully equal to the highest courage
and devotion shown upon the field of battle. They dodgedv
hid, fought, struggled, and in all ways evaded the service of
the Confederacy, and were true to the Union of their faith.
The close of the war found them just where they had been at
its beginning. They had neither gone backward nor for
ward.

They regarded the abolition of slavery as justifiable solely
upon the ground of the master having personally and individ
ually engaged in rebellion, — a punishment for his treason.
Upon this ground, and this alone, they regarded it as possible
that this idea should be sustained ; and with this doctrine they
held, as an unavoidable corollary, that they were entitled, either
to be excepted from its operation, or to be compensated for
such slaves as were taken from them by the Military Procla
mation.

When it comes to the application of logic, and the princi
ples of equity on which all such questions of national polity
are said to be based, it is difficult to perceive what is the
fallacy in the reasoning of these Southern Unionists. It has
always been claimed that slavery was abolished as a military
necessity, and not because of its inherent wrong, or merely as
a humanitarian measure to benefit the enslaved. Almost any
one of the wise men who made the laws, and regulated the
course of political events at that time, would have affirmed
this. Yet, if this were true, there should have been no inter
ference with the slaves 'of the Southern Unionist, or, if there
were, he should have been compensated for the same as well
as for his cotton, his corn, his tobacco, his fences, his timber,
and cattle, unwittingly destroyed, or needfully appropriated, by
the national forces. This was not done, however. The wise
men decided that it would not do to attempt it.

So the result was, that, while the open and avowed rebel lost
his slave-property by the events of the war, the most ardent
and devoted Unionist lost his also. It was hard, very hard,
when a man had given the best years of his life to the

COCK-CROW. 129

honest acquisition of a species of property which was not
only protected, but seemed to have been peculiarly favored
and encouraged, by our laws ; and when, the life of the nation
being in peril, at the risk of his own he stood by her, espoused
her cause against his neighbors, made himself an outcast in
his own land, — it was hard indeed, when the struggle was
over, to see that nation to which he had been so devotedly
attached reaching out its hand, and stripping him of the
competence thus acquired, and leaving him to suffer, not only
the pangs of poverty, but the jeers of those whose treason he
had opposed. That the love of these men should gradually
grow cold for the country which measured out to friend and
foe alike one even measure of punishment, our Fool thought
not a matter to be wondered at; but the wise men of the
National Capital were unable to believe that this could be.
So time wore on, and wise men and fools played at cross-
purposes ; and the locks of Samson grew while he wrought at
the mill.

CHAPTER XXII.

COCK-CROW.

AFTER the Fool's speech at the political meeting, and the
events which succeeded it became generally known, he was
much sought after by what were known as Union men among
the people. His words seemed to have touched a deep chord in
their hearts, not so much from what he had said perhaps, as
from the fact that he had dared to say it. They came to him
with wonderings and warnings upon their lips. How he dared
to stand up and maintain ideas at variance with the accepted
creed of that class of men who had always formulated arid
controlled public opinion, they could not understand. They
hated secession, always had hated it; they had voted against
it in 1861 ; some had been outspoken against it on the stump,

130 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

in the street, everywhere, and at all times : but in the main
the opposition had been a silent one. The terrible suppressive
power which slavery had exercised over liberty of thought and
speech had grown into a habit of mind. Men who for gen
erations had been unable to express their thoughts above a
whisper, as to one of the institutions by which they were
surrounded, became cautious to the verge of timidity. Many
a time did our Fool listen to the approval of men who would
glance cautiously around before addressing him, and then
say in a low, hushed tone, —

" That is what we want. I tell you it did me good to hear
you; but you must look out! You don't know these people as
I do. It don't do to speak out here as you do at the North."

" But why not?" he would query impatiently. "That wras
my honest conviction : why should I not speak it out? "

" Hush, hush ! " his interviewer would say nervously. " Here,
let's step aside a little while, and chat."

And then, perhaps, they would pass out of the public way,
into that refuge of free thought at the South, the woods (or
" the bushes," as the scraggly growth is more generally termed) ;
and he would listen to some tale of heroic endurance by
which his companion had evaded conscription in the time of
the war, or avoided prosecution in the ante-war era, which
elicited his wonder both for the devotion then displayed for
principle, and the caution which was born of it.

" Why do you not speak out ? " he would ask.

" Oh, it won't do ! I could not live here, or not in any
peace at least, if I did ; and then my family — they would be
cut off from all society : nobody would have any thing to do
with them. Why, as careful as I have been, my children are
insulted every now and then as 'nigger-worshipers,' and —
and " —

" And what ? "

" Well — ' Yankee-lovers,' " apologetically. " You see, it's
got out in my neighborhood that I came to see you a few weeks
ago."

" Well, what of that ? Haven't you a right to do so ? Can't
» man speak his opinions, and act his preferences? "

COCK-CROW. 131

" You will find out that this old pro-slavery, aristocratic ele
ment don't allow people to differ from them peaceably and
quietly. If I were you, I'd be mighty careful who I talked to.
You don't know any thing about what trouble you may get
into any day."

" Well, I shall not," the Fool would reply. "I don't care any
thing particular about the matter. I am no politician, and
don't want to be ; but I am going to say just what I think, at
all proper times and places, when the spirit moves me so
to do."

" Of course, of course," would be the reply. " You know
best ; but you ought to recollect that you are not at the North,
where they allow every man to have his own opinions, and
rather despise him if he don't have them, as I take it they do."

So the two men would separate, each wondering at the other ;
the Fool amazed that one could endure so much for the sake of
his own opinion, think so well, apprehend so clearly the state
of affairs, and yet be so timid about declaring his convictions.
He could not call it cowardice ; for many of these men had
taken their lives in their hands to shelter men on their way to
the Union lines. Others, in the ante-war era, had circulated
books and pamphlets in regard to slavery, to be found in posses
sion of which ivas a capital crime. Others had helped fugitive
slaves to escape to freedom, with the terrors of Judge Lynch 's
rope and fagots before their eyes. Others still, upon being
conscripted into the Confederate ranks, had refused to bear
arms, even when put into the front rank and under the hottest
fire of battle.

They could look at danger and death very calmly ; but they
could not stand forth openly, and face the glare of social pro
scription. The Fool could not understand it.

On the other hand, the Southern Unionists could not under
stand the heedless outspokenness of the Northern man. To
them it seemed the very height of folly. It meant proscription,
broils, mobs, and innumerable risks which might be avoided by
a prudent silence.

These were the warnings of his friends. He received others

132 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

shortly afterwards, which impressed him more. He had been
accustomed to ride into Verdenton occasionally on business,
and when he did so, frequently did not start for home until
after sundown, especially if the. nights were light; a ride in
the Southern summer moonlight being an ever-enjoyable ro
mance to an appreciative nature. One night as he was thus
returning to Warrington, the low western moon shining full in
his face, he was startled, as he passed through a piece of wood
land road, by seeing a man ride out from under a low-growing
oak which stood close by the roadside, and call his name.
The denseness of the shadow had quite hidden both horse
and rider, and the Fool was within a few steps of his inter
locutor when he emerged into the moonlight. To draw rein,
and take a pistol from his belt, was the work of an instant to
the ex-soldier, and entirely an instinctive act.

"All right, Colonel," said the horseman pleasantly. "I am
glad to see that you carry that useful article, and are handy
about getting it out ; but it is not necessary now. You know
me, I reckon."

"Dr. Gates?" said the Fool inquiringly, as he peered into
the shaded face of the horseman, with a blush of shame at
having drawn his weapon upon an unknown and undemonstra
tive wayfarer. "I — ah — you startled me, Doctor, coming
from under the tree there ; and I have been so long accustomed
to an appeal to arms in case of surprise, that I half fancied
I had a fight on my hands," he continued half jocosely.

" No excuses, Colonel : I don't blame you, and am, as I said,
glad to see it. One frequently avoids danger by being pre
pared for it. I want to speak to you a moment."

"Well?"

" Come under the tree here," he said, glancing up and down
the road. " There's no use standing out there in the moon
light."

When they were in the shade, the doctor said, —

" You may think it is none of my business, and so it is not,
in fact; but I have just thought that some one ought to tell
you, — and as no one else seems to have done so, I thought I

COCK-CROW. 133

would make it my business to let you know, — that you are act
ing very imprudently."

" Ah ! "

" Yes : I have noticed, that, when you are in town, you fre
quently leave about the time you did to-night. Now, you
ought to know that your speech, and indeed what you have
to say whenever you speak at all in regard to public matters,
is very distasteful to our people, especially when they congre
gate in the town, and get filled up and warmed up."

" So you think a man can not be allowed to have his own
opinions, but must have them countersigned by a committee
of his neighbors before he makes them the coin of current
speech," said the Fool somewhat sternly.

" No : I didn't come here to quarrel with your opinions, nor
even with your time and manner of declaring them," answered
the other. "I am not at all sure that you are not right in
your notions. They are certainly very plausible, and to your
mind, I doubt not, are quite unanswerable. However, I do
think that you might learn a little prudence from the men
you associate with. I saw you talking with David Nelson to
day. He is one of those I mean. A better Union man never
stood between soil and sunshine ; and I'll wager something he
advised you to be cautious, not only as to what you said, but
when and where you said it."

" Of course he did ! " said the Fool, laughing. " It seems as
if all these Union men were afraid to say their souls were
their own."

" If they had not been cautious, their souls would have been
all that could be called their own," said the doctor hotly. " /
was not a Union man," he continued. " I am half ashamed to
say it ; for I knew and felt that secession and the Confederacy
were simply folly. But the truth is, I had not the nerve : I
couldn't stand the pressure. But I practiced here among these
Union people, and was also with the army part of the time. I
was at Fredericksburg when your people tried to take it; and
I tell you now, Colonel, I would rather have come with your
fellows across that bare plateau to the foot of St. Marye's Hill

134 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

than have faced what these Union people here did, day after
day, during the whole war. I saw many a strange thing ; but
I learned to hold my tongue from very admiration of their
pluck."

"No doubt," said the Fool; "but they seem to have been
more thoroughly whipped than you rebels have been. I can
not understand why they should not speak out, and show their
colors openly, now. Why, only the other day, I was invited
to a Union meeting; and, thinking it might be a pleasant
thing, I took along a garrison flag which I happened to have,
and festooned it over the platform above where the speakers
were to stand. In a little while some of the leading men
came to me, and asked if I would not have it taken down.
They were glad to see it, and all that, they said; but they
'vere afraid it might cause trouble."

" You did not take it down, of course," said the doctor.

" You may well say that ! I would have died before it
should have been lowered an inch. I fought for a right to
put it there, and would fight to keep it there," said the Fool
warmly.

" There is not a doubt about that, Colonel," rejoined the
other ; " and yet it does seem to me, with all respect, that you
were foolish to put it there. I can no more understand you
than you can understand the Union people about you. Did
you ever think that the Union people here are vastly in a
minority, and that the rest of us — I mean the mass of our
people — regard this needless flaunting of that flag in our faces
as an insult and an arrogance on your part? Even your wear
ing of that old uniform coat, though I am glad to see that you
have sacrificed the buttons, is regarded as a taunt. You should
remember that you are one of the conquerors, in the midst of
the conquered."

" But I have no hatred, no ill-will, towards any one who wore
the gray," said the Fool protestingly.

" I am sure of that, or I would not have ridden out here to
do you a good turn to-night," said the doctor.

"I do not understand you."

THE DIE IS CAST. 135

" I suppose not. But you can understand, that, if I felt con
fident of meeting you here for a friendly purpose, one who
had an unfriendly one might be equally sure of doing so? "

" Do you mean to say that I might be waylaid ? "

"I mean to say," said the doctor significantly, "that, if I
were you, I would not make a habit of traveling any particular
road after dark."

"But" —

"I shall answer no questions, Colonel, and will bid you
good-night." He turned his horse, and was about to ride off,
when he drew rein, and said, —

" You need have no fear to-night, and I suppose I need not
request you to say nothing of this meeting. Good-night."

He gave his horse the rein, and cantered away towards the
town with that easy, swaying seat, characteristic of the lei
surely, well-to-do Southern man, who has been in the saddle
almost every day from his infancy, who rides, not so much for
the sake of riding as for covering the ground with the least
inconvenience to himself and his horse. When this easy lope
had carried the doctor around a bend of the wood, and only
the measured thud of the horse's hoofs came back to his ear,
the Fool rode out from under the shadow of the water-oak,
and made his way thoughtfully homeward. If he scanned
the thickets closely, and started when a stray cow burst with
considerable noise through the half-lighted under-growth, he
may be pardoned, after the repeated warnings of the day.

CHAPTER XX IIL

THE DIE IS CAST.

WHEX the time for the election of delegates to a Constitu
tional Convention was near at hand, the Union men of the
county held a meeting to nominate candidates. The colored

136 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

people, as yet unused to political assemblages, but with an in
distinct impression that their rights and interests were involved,
attended in large numbers. The Union men were few, and not
of that class who were accustomed to the lead arid control of
such meetings. The place of assembly selected was an old
country schoolhouse some two miles from the county-seat, and
situated in a beautiful grove. The Fool, partly from curiosity,
and partly to give such aid and countenance as he might to a
movement which was based upon a recognition and support
of the Federal Union as contradistinguished from the idea of
voluntary secession and disintegration, attended the meeting,
though hardly half-convinced of the practicability and wisdom
of the proposed plan of reconstruction. By this time he was
well known in the county, and, quite unconsciously to himself,
regarded as a leader in the movement. Accustomed to com
mand for four years, and previous to that time imbued with
the spirit of ready and hearty co-operation and participation
in matters of public interest which is almost the birthright of
the Northern citizen, he was vexed and troubled at the retiring
hesitancy of the Union men by whom he was surrounded.
Why a hundred or a thousand men should come together for
a particular purpose, and then "hem and haw," and wait for
some one to move first, he could not understand. When he
came on the ground, the hour for which the meeting had been
appointed had already arrived. The colored people had gath
ered in a dense mass on one side of the platform, waiting in
earnest expectancy to take whatever part might be allotted
to them in the performance of the new and untried duties of
citizenship. The white men were squatted about in little
groups, conversing in low, uneasy tones, and glancing suspi
ciously at every new-comer. A little at one side was Colonel
Ezekiel Vaughn, with a few cronies, laughing and talking
boisterously about the different men who were taking part in
the movement. This seemed to have a wonderfully depressing
effect upon the white Unionists, who evidently dreaded his
clamorous ridicule, and feared that some disturbance might
ensue, should they attempt to proceed.

THE DIE IS CAST. 137

" Well," said the Fool, as he approached a group of a dozen
or more, seated in a circle under a giant oak, " why don't you
begin ? "

" Hist ! " said one of those whom he addressed. " Doii't you
see those fellows ? " at the same time nodding, and winking
towards Vaughn and his crowd.

" See them ? " he replied, as he glanced towards them.
"Yes. Why?"

" They've come here for a row," answered the other.

" Pshaw ! " said the Fool. " They don't want any row ; but,
if they do, let them have it."

" But we can't do any thing if they have made up their
minds to break up the meeting," said the Unionist.

" Break up the meeting ! Fudge ! Are we not enough to
take care of that squad of non-combatant fire-eaters ? "

" Oh, yes ! But then — they would make a heap of trouble,"
was the reply. " Don't you think we had better put it off, and
have a private understanding with our people that they shall
come here on a certain day, and be sure and not let Colonel
Vaughn or any of his crowd know about it V "

" No, I don't ! " answered the Fool promptly. " If we are
going to be cowed and browbeaten out of doing our duty by a
crowd of men who never did any thing but talk, we may as
well give up and go home. If not, let us stay and do our
duty as good citizens."

" Why don't you open your show, Servosse V " asked Vaughn,
in a loud and taunting voice, as he approached the group. " I
tell you we are getting mighty tired of waitin' ; and them
niggers is just bustiii' for a chance to begin votin'."

" Hello, Vaughn!" said the Fool, in a voice equally loud, but
more jovial. " Are you here V Then we will begin at once.
We were just waiting for the monkey before the show began;
but, if you are on hand, we are all ready."

There was a laugh, and Vaughn retired disconcerted. But
one of those with whom the Fool had been conversing drew
him aside, and said with great seriousness. —

" Now, Colonel, you will excuse me ; but I am afraid you will

138 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

get yourself into trouble if you talk to these folks in that way.
You see they are not used to it."

" Then let them get used to it," said the Fool carelessly. " If
Vaughn did not want a sharp retort, he should not have made
an insolent remark."

" That's so, Colonel ; but you see they are used to doin' and
sayin' any thing they choose in regard to people who happen to
differ with them. Why, I remember when a man was prose
cuted here in this very county for havin' a seditious book —
one about slavery, you know — in his possession, and lendin'
it to a friend ; and people were almost afraid to speak to him,
or go bail for him. You Northern people don't know any
thing about what we call public opinion here."

" I'm sure I don't want to know, if it means that a man shall
not speak his opinion freely, and throw stones when another
throws them at him," said the Fool determinedly.

" Yet," said the Union man, "it is folly to defy and provoke
such a spirit unnecessarily."

"I agree with you there, my friend," was the Fool's answer.
" But, if one has principles which are worth supporting or fight
ing for, they ought also to be worth standing up for against
ridicule and arrogance."

"It would seem so; but it won't do, — not in this country,
anyhow," said the Unionist with a sigh.

At this point there were symptoms of excitement among the
crowd; and a faint, straggling cheer broke out, as Colonel
Rhenu rode up, and dismounted from his horse, which he tied
to an overhanging bough, and came forward, holding his well-
worn beaver in his left hand, bowing, and shaking hands with
his neighbors, and returning with slight but grave courtesy
the boisterous greeting of the colored people. This arrival
at once seemed to give confidence to those who had before
evidently regarded the movement as a disagreeable if not a
dangerous duty. Nathan Rhenn was a gentleman of a type
peculiarly Southern, and exceedingly rare. He was of an
old but not now wealthy family. His connections were good,
but not high. Before the war he had been in comfortable

THE DIE IS CAST. 139

circumstances only : now he was actually poor. Yet at no
time had he abated one jot of that innate gentility which had
always marked his deportment. He was clad now in "butter
nut-gray " homespun, wore black woolen gloves on his hands,
a high black stock on his neck, with a high, narrow-brimmed,
and rather dingy beaver hat, and would have been a figure
highly provocative of mirth, had it not been for his considerate,
graceful, and self-respecting courtesy. Since the meeting at
which he presided, when the Fool made his maiden speech
upon a political question, Colonel Rhenn had rarely attended
public meetings, and was known as one whose status (despite
his former Unionism, which was unquestioned) was very doubt
ful. He was known to be one who would not have attended
the meeting unless he intended to give in his adhesion to the
cause which it had assembled to promote. He was considered,
therefore, an accession of very great importance, by those who
were present, to the cause of Reconstruction. Hardly had he
greeted his many friends, when some one arose and said, —
"I nominate Nathan Rhenn as chairman of this meeting."
It was unanimously concurred in ; and the new arrival, with
many grave bows and protestations, permitted himself to be
led to the platform. Upon taking his seat as chairman, he
made a brief speech, in substance as follows : —

" FELLOW-CITIZENS, — I have come here to-day for the purpose
of giving rny support and countenance to a movement in support of
what are known as the Reconstruction Acts, which I presume to be
the reason that you have honored me by making me your chairman.
As you are well aware, I have always been a Union man. I believe
that under all circumstances, and by all persons and parties, I have
been accorded that distinction. At the same time, I have never
been, or been considered, an abolitionist. I was a slaveholder, and
belonged to a race of slaveholders, and never felt any conscientious
scruples at remaining such. I did not pass upon slavery, it is true,
as a new or an abstract question, but considered it as I found it,
solely in relation to myself. I did not buy nor sell, except when I
bought a woman that she might not be sold away from her hus
band, and sold one man, at his own request, that he might go with
liis wife. The act of buying and selling human beings, I admit,

140 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

was repulsive to me ; but I accepted the institution as I found
it, and did not feel called upon to attempt its overthrow. In
the attempt which was made to disrupt the government, this in
stitution has been destroyed ; and it is the question in regard to
the future political relations of those who were, as it were, but
yesterday slaves, which produces the present 'differences of opin
ion among our people, and promises future conflict. If it were
the simple question whether we should now be restored to the
American Union, and take our place as one of the co-ordinate States,
which we had to decide, there would be no difference of opinion.
Only an insignificant minority of our people would oppose such res
toration upon any terms which did not embrace the conferring of
political power upon the freed people. Many think this an unwise
and impracticable measure : others believe it to be imposed upon us
by the conquerors, simply as an act of wanton and gross insult, for
the purpose of adding to the degradation of an already humiliated
foe. The fact, also, that every one who had been an'offieer of the old
government, and then served the Confederacy in any voluntary ca
pacity, is barred from the right of suffrage, while his recent slave is
given the power to Arote, occasions much ill feeling. While I deem
the exclusion wise and necessary, though it must strike some who
are undeserving, I confess that I have had my fears in regard to the
latter measure. After mature and earnest reflection, however, I
have become satisfied, that, at the least, the best thing we can do is
to accept what is offered, show our willingness to submit to what
ever may be deemed wise and proper, and trust that the future may
establish the right. Therefore I have come here to-day to co-operate
with you. And now, gentlemen, what is your pleasure ? "

For once there was a scarcity of candidates. Xo one seemed
to desire a position which promised to be onerous, without
honor, and of little profit; which it was felt would cast odium
upon the individual, and social and religious ostracism upon
his family. The names of the chairman and another were
submitted; but the chairman stated that, having been a mem
ber of the Legislature before the war, and a justice of the
peace during the Confederacy, he believed himself disqualified.
Tlien the tool's name was substituted for that of the chair
man, and the nomination was made.

According to custom, the candidates were called upon to
make speeches in acceptance; and the Fool in so doing ac-

THE DIE IS CAST. 141

knowledged himself quite unprepared to state the line of
conduct he should propose in the convention, beyond the
acceptance of the conditions prescribed in the Acts under
which the election Would be held, but promised to set it forth
in a printed circular, that all might read and understand his
position. The next week this document came out. It does
not seem half so revolutionary as it really was. It read, —

" I shall, if elected, favor : —

" 1. Equal civil and political rights to all men.

" 2. The abolition of property qualifications for voters, offi
cers, and jurors.

"3. Election by the people of all officers — legislative, ex
ecutive, and judicial — in the state, the counties, the muni
cipalities.

"4. Penal reform: the abolition of the whipping-post, the
stocks, and the branding-iron; and the reduction of capital
felonies from seventeen to one, or at most two.

" 5. Uniform and ad valorem taxation upon property, and a
limitation of capitation tax to not more than three days' labor
upon the public roads in each year, or an equivalent thereof.

"6. An effective system of public schools."

The Fool had no idea that he was committing an enormity ;
but from that day he became an outlaw in the land where he
hoped to have made a home, and which he desired faithfully
to serve.

There was a short, sharp canvass, a quiet election, and one
day there came to the Fool's address an official document
bearing the imprint of the "Headquarters of the Military
District " in which he lived, certifying that " Comfort Servosse
had been duly elected a delegate to the Constitutional Con
vention to be held pursuant to the acts of Congress." With
him went as members of that body some old friends whom
we have met in these pages ; among them John Walters, who
was the delegate-elect from his county.

142 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XXIV.'

"WISDOM CRIETH IN THE STREETS.

IMMEDIATELY after the fact of his election became known,
the Wise Men who had framed those laws under which the
greatest political experiment of modern civilization was to be
made, began to write letters to the Fool, all filled with kind
and paternal advice as to what the body of which he had just
been elected a member ought to do, and when and how it
should all be done, as well as a thousand cautions and warn
ings as to what ought not to be done. The wisdom of these
men was most wonderful, in that it not only served for their
own purposes, but actually overflowed in superabundant ad
vice to the rest of mankind. It is true that they knew less
than nothing of the thoughts, feelings, situations, and sur
roundings of those people for whose moral and political ills
they were prescribing remedies, because the facts which they
had apprehended were so colored and modified by others
which they could not comprehend, that their conclusions were
more likely to be wrong than right. But they were not
troubled by any reflection of this kind, because they were
quite unconscious that any thing could exist without their
knowledge, and never dreamed that careful investigation, study,
and time were necessary to restore a nation which had just out
lived the fever-fire of civil war; and certainly they were not
responsible for not knowing that which they did not dream
had any existence.

One of these letters lies before me now. It bears the auto
graph of one of the wisest of the Wise Men. It is a very great
name, — a name that is found in the statesman's annals, and
appears on the roll of the United-States Senate, year after year,
for a period longer than most men's public lives are privileged
to reach. He was a man of wonderful foresight and unerring

WISDOM CRIETH IN THE STREETS. 143

judgment, so it was said. He knew his State from center to
circumference, and never missed the temper of its people. It
was said that he was never an hour too late, nor a day too
early, in proclaiming his opinions upon any political question.
Through a certain range of thought his convictions rose and fell
with the flood of popular sentiment ; and, could the wavering
lines described by the sphygmograph which the physician some
times laid upon his wrist, have been translated into articulate
words, they would have told the precise story of public senti
ment in her domains ever since he engaged in the service of
the Commonwealth of . This sentiment was the divining-
rod by which he traced his political footsteps ; and so he wrote
the following persuasive letter to the Fool : —

SENATE CHAMBER, WASHINGTON, D.C.,
Dec. 16, 1867.

MY DEAR COLONEL, — I was very much gratified to know that
you are one of the delegates selected to represent your county in the
Constitutional Convention of your State. Your record as a Union
soldier, and well-known and acknowledged ability, lead us to expect
very much of you. And by " us " I do not mean the members of
Congress and senators merely, but the party of the Union throughout
the country. We are well aware that you did not in all respects
approve the plan of Reconstruction which was finally adopted;
neither did I: and yet, perhaps, we could have done no better. You
see it was absolutely necessary to do something. Three years have
almost elapsed since the war was over, and nothing has been done
to establish any permanent system of restoration or plan of govern
ment for that part of the national domain. The usurpative acts of
the President have done much to complicate the situation. He has
gone over to the enemy, — or, rather, they have rallied to his
support, — and will no doubt have, in the coming presidential con
test, not only the vast patronage which he controls thrown in their
favor, but also the hearty support of those dissatisfied of our party
who think that every thing should have been done and settled, and
the South re-stored to her Federal relations, long before this time.
This will make the contest a very close and doubtful one, unless we
can do two things: —

1. We must be able to point to an accomplished restoration,—
the South reconstructed, represented, or ready for representation,
under the congressional plan.

144 A FOOUS ERRAND.

2. We must have the support of these States in the presidential
contest next fall.

3. In order to secure the adoption of the new Constitutional
Amendments beyond question, we must have the votes of these
States. If this is not secured, it is more than doubtful whether the
courts will recognize those acts.

The President will undoubtedly do all in his power to delay, hin
der, and frustrate these ends. Your convention will probably be
put off as long as possible, and every effort made to delay its pro
ceedings. It is of prime importance, therefore, that its action, when
once assembled, should not be unnecessarily protracted a single
instant. We are looking confidently to you to promote these ends.
It is the opinion of our best men here, that all your convention
should attempt to do is to adopt the former Constitution of the
State, with a provision inserted against slavery, and another de
nouncing secession, prohibit the payment of Confederate debts, pro
vide for impartial suffrage, and adjourn. This can be done in a
week or ten days, at the farthest, and the proceedings forwarded
here so as to prevent delay. If this is done, the Southern States can
all be counted on in the presidential election; and, under a favorable
administration, whatever further changes are necessary can be easily
effected.

Unless we can secure the votes of these States, the election of
a President by our party and the adoption of the Constitutional
Amendments are very doubtful, perhaps impossible. Upon the
accession of a President from the opposition party, with a majority
in the House of Representatives, the representatives from these
States under the Johnsonian plan would no doubt be admitted ; and
the colored people and white Unionists of the South would have no
protection, and the nation no guaranties against future rebellion.

A and B and C of your State, who have written to

me, quite concur in these views. We confidently expect your ap
proval and co-operation. Dispatch is of the utmost importance. Let
there be no delay. I would like to hear from you immediately.
Copies of such amendments as are deemed necessary to be made
will be forwarded to some delegate before the convention meets,
and I earnestly recommend that nothing further be attempted to be
done.

With the highest respect, my dear Colonel,

I remain your obedient servant,

COL. COMFORT SERVOS SE, Warrington.

We omit the great name which appears in scraggly charac-

WISDOM CRIETH IN THE STREETS. 145

ters on the now yellow and dingy scroll. How swiftly the
tooth of Time gnaws away the inscriptions of fame ! Only a
decade has passed, and the restless brain and heart of vaulting
ambition which dictated these lines, no doubt hoping thereby
to smooth somewhat his pathway to the highest place in the
nation, overwhelmed with the chagrin of repeated disappoint
ment, has moldered into dust, and almost passed into forget-
fulness.

The Fool answered this and other letters of like character
with that lack of reverence for great names which the active
participant in great events unconsciously acquires. Ten years
before, he would have accepted this wise man's views upon any
question of governmental policy, with the same undoubting
faith that the humblest believer gives to the written and re
vealed Word. He would neither have questioned his position,
doubted his motives, nor suspected his statesmanship. Now,
alas ! since his unfortunate acces de la folie, he had seen so
many great reputations wither in the councils of the nation, in
the freer and grander struggle of public opinion, and on the
field of battle, — he had so often seen the rnuch-vaunted Old
give way to the bolder and stronger New, that he had lost that
due veneration and regard for age and rank which mark the
thoroughly sound and well-ordered mind. Experience of the
fallibility of the few very wise men whom he had met had no
doubt tended to increase the effects of his infirmity, and con
firm an unfortunate delusion which he had, that even wise men
are capable of error.

Just about -this time, too, there oceurred a most unfortunate
circumstance, which had the melancholy effect to confirm this
delusion. One of the wisest of these very wise men had long
been impressed with a belief that a new revelation of the Gos
pel of Peace, especially adapted to that time and occasion, had
been made to him alone, and that it needed but the inspiration
of his presence, the deep sincerity of his sonorous sub-vocals,
and the power of his imperious but most kindly countenance, to
bring the most obdurate of the recent rebels back to subser
vient complacency. Now. unfortunately, instead of leaving this

146 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

beautiful theory to remain unmarred by the rude test of prac
tice, as most wise men do with their finest theories, he insisted
on submitting it to that coarse ordeal. Accordingly, after
being duly heralded by the newspapers of the country, he
tremblingly took his life in his hand, and, with a body-guard
of reporters and stenographers, made a raid into this border
land of civilization to proclaim political light and life. Some
thing in his speech there was which failed to please; and first
angry words, and then the angrier bark of Derringer and re
volver, followed. The crowd scattered, the body-guard disap
peared ; and that most amiable of controversies, a genteel South
ern fight, took place under the eye of the Wise Man, or, rather,
under his ear, as he crouched behind the desk from which he
had a moment before been expounding " the law of love as co
equal and co-ordinate with the love of law ; these being mutu
ally interdependent upon and generative of the other." The
Fool had chuckled again and again at this Wise Man's discom
fiture, and was never tired of adducing it as an instance of the
failure of wisdom at long-range when pitted against sense at
short-taw. So, in response to the letter which has been given,
he very foolishly wrote thus : —

WARBINGTON, Dec. 20, 1867.

To THE HONORABLE , SENATOR.

Sir, — Your letter of the 15th, advising me as to my duties as a
delegate to the Constitutional Convention to be held at the call of
the general commanding this military district, was duly received,
and has been given the consideration which it merits hy the per
sonal eminence and official station of the writer. If is with regret
that I find myself compelled to differ from one occupying your
exalted station, both as a statesman, a patriot, and a Republican
leader, upon a matter which you deem so vital in many respects. I
can not say I regard the convention as less important than you
do, but rather as even more so, though in quite a different sense.
From a purely partisan stand-point, I should be inclined to concur
with your view, if I could believe present success to be the highest
policy; but when we come to regard the ultimate interest, not only
of this State and this people, but also of the entire country, it seems
to me indubitable that it is of much more importance that the work

WISDOM CRIETH IN THE STREETS. 147

of the reconstruction of State governments in the recently rebel
lious territory shoiild be well done, than- that it should be speedily
done. You will also allow me to say that it seems to me that one
who has been on the ground, and has studied the tone and temper of
the people from the very hour of the surrender, has had a much
better opportunity to decide upon what is necessary to be done than
one who has had none of those opportunities, and who seems to have
regarded the question of restoring the statal relations as a move in
a political game. As you say, I was opposed to this plan of Recon
struction. I regarded it then, as I still do, as eminently hazardous
in its character, very imperfect in its provisions, an i lacking all the
elements of cautious, deliberate, and far-seeing statesmanship. My
objections to it were based upon the following considerations: —

1. The true object and purpose of Reconstruction should be (1)
to secure the nation in the future from the perils of civil war,
especially a war based upon the same underlying principles and
causes as the one just concluded; (2) to secure a development
homogeneous with that of the North, so as to render the country
what it has never been heretofore, — a nation. As an essential ele
ment of this, the bestowal of equal civil and political rights upon
all men, without regard to previous rank or station, becomes imper
ative. It seems to me the Reconstruction Acts have made this
postulate of greater importance than the result to which it is aux
iliary.

2. I do not think the passions evoked by that struggle, based a8
it was upon a radical difference of development, and the ill-concealed
hostility of many generations, can by any means be put out of sight
in such a movement. I do not believe that those who have looked
into each other's faces by the lurid light of battle are the fittest
persons to devise and execute such rehabilitation, nor do I believe
that a lately subject-race is likely to prove an emollient or a neutral
izing element in this peaceful adjustment.

3. From a party stand-point, you will allow me to say that I do
not think that a party composed of the elements which must con
stitute the bulk of our party in the South under the present plan of
Reconstruction can ever be permanently siiccessful. At least two-
thirds of it must not only be poor and ignorant, but also inexperi
enced and despised. They are just freed from servitude; and the
badge of that servitude, the leprosy of slavery, still clings to them.
Politically they are unclean; and the contamination of their asso
ciation will drive away from us the bulk of the brain, character, and
experience which has hitherto ruled these States, and through them
the nation. Not only this, but thousands of those who went with

148 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

us in the late election will fall away when they find themselves and
their families focused in the eye of public scorn and ridicule. You
wise men who concocted these measures do not seem to have com
prehended the fact that the brain and heart of the South — the
pulpit, the bar, and the planters; a vast proportion of its best men,
and almost every one of its women — cast in their lot with the late
Confederacy with all the self-abandonment and devotion of a people
who fought for what they believed to be right. You do not realize
that this feeling was intensified a thousand-fold by a prolonged and
desperate struggle, and final defeat. You do not seem to appreciate
the fact, which all history teaches, that there is no feeling in the
human breast more blind and desperate in its manifestations, or so
intense and ineradicable in its nature, as the bitter scorn of a long
dominant race for one they have held in bondage. You deem this
feeling insensate hate. You could not make a greater mistake.
Hate is a sentiment mild and trivial in comparison with it. This
embraces no element of individual or personal dislike, but is simply
utter and thorough disgust and scorn for the race, — except in what
they consider its proper place, — a feeling more fatal to any thing
like democratic recognition of their rights as citizens than the most
undying hate could be. A party builded upon ignorance, inexperi
ence, and poverty, and mainly composed of a race of pariahs, who
are marked and distinguished by their color, can not stand against
intelligence, wealth, the pride of a conquered nation, and a race-
prejudice whose intensity laughs to shame the exclusive haughti
ness of the Brahmins.

I know your answer to these views: I have heard it a thousand
times. But it is builded upon the sand. The very idea is an out
growth of what we call our Northern development, and sometimes
arrogantly style "American civilization." It is not true even of
that, however, and would not be true of the North, ceteris paribus.
You say that the interest of the Southern leading classes will compel
them to accept and carry out in good faith your reconstructionary
idea. You can not find in all history an instance in which the collec
tive advantage of a people has ever yet counterbalanced their preju
dices, until at least one generation had grown up under the new
phase which conquest had imposed on their affairs. It is useless to
attempt to cite examples, for there is not one exception in all history.
Individuals may come over, either from conviction of the general
good, or for personal advantage, or from both these motives; but
races, nations, and classes must be born again, must see another gen
eration, before that result is ever obtained. Mark the dispersion of
the Tories of our Revolution as an instance, and think how few of

WISDOM CRIETH IN THE STREETS. 149

those who remained ever ceased to execrate the nation of which they
were unwillingly components.

But, you say, it is needless to consider these questions now ; and
that I admit, except as it becomes necessary to explain my position.
After mature deliberation, I concluded that I could not put myself
in opposition to those measures when submitted to the vote of the
people here, because the only opposition there was, was based solely
upon hostility to the government for which I had fought. It was
the spirit of the Rebellion revived. I could not ally myself with
this. I was forced to take these measures, and aid in the attempt to
make them subserve the purpose of rehabilitation as nearly as possi-.
ble. This accounts for my opposition to your view. The Rebellion
was not the mere incident of an accident: it was the culmination
of a long smoldering antagonism, — a divergence of thought and
sentiment which was radical and irreconcilable: it was a conflict
between two divergent civilizations, and those civilizations had left
their marks upon the laws of each section.

The constitutions of the North had fostered individual independ
ence, equal rights and power, and general intelligence among the
masses. The township system had been the cause and consequence
of this. Almost all offices were elective, and, except in rare in
stances, all men were electors. It developed democratic ideas and
sentiments, and was a nursery of democratic freedom.

In the South the reverse was true. The ballot and the jury-box
were jealously guarded from the intrusion of the poor. Wealth was
a prerequisite of official eligibility. It was a republic in name, but
an oligarchy in fact. Its laws were framed and construed to this
end. The land-holdings were enormous, and the bulk of those who
cultivated the soil were not freeholders, but either slaves or
renters.

To my mind, the first great prerequisite of successful Reconstruc
tion is to break down the legal barriers to a homogeneous develop
ment of the country; to so organize the new State governments
that they will tend to encourage individual action, freedom of opin
ion, diversity of industry, and general education. The task before
the coming convention is herculean, even if it is not impossible to
accomplish. I have pledged myself to those who elected me, to
attempt what I can in this direction, and shall redeem the pledge
to the letter. I inclose you a copy of the Circular issued to our
electors.

In conclusion, allow me to say that I do not believe that the
interest or success of the Republican party demands or would be
promoted by the course you suggest. If it does, I am sure that the

150 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

ultimate interest of the country does not; and as I was a citizen
before I was a Republican, and as I fought for the country and not
for the party, you «mst excuse rue if I follow my convictions rather
than your counsel. I am, very respectfully,

Your obedient servant,

COMFORT SERVOSSK.

CHAPTER XXV.
A GRUMBLER'S FORECAST.

THE transition period was over, so it was said. The conven
tions had met in the various States, and in a marvelously short
time had submitted constitutions which had been ratified by
vote of the people. Officers had been chosen under them, they
had been approved by the Congress of the nation as required
by law, Legislatures had met, senators and representatives in
Congress been chosen, the presidential election had taken
place, and the Republican party had achieved an overwhelming
success. It was all over, — the war, reconstruction, the consid
eration of the old questions. Now all was peace and harmony.
The South must take care of itself now. The nation had done
its part : it had freed the slaves, given them the ballot, opened
the courts to them, and put them in the way of self -protection
and self-assertion. The " root-hog-or-die " policy of the great
apostle of the instantaneous transformation era became gener
ally prevalent. The nation heaved a sigh of relief. For
three-quarters of a century the South had been the " Old Man
of the Sea " to the young Republic : by a simple trick of
political legerdemain he was now got rid of for ever. No won
der the Republic breathed freely! Yankee-land could now
bend its undivided energies to its industries and commerce.
The South would take care of itself, manage its own affairs,
look after its own interests. The nation was safe. It had put
down rebellion, disbanded its armies, patched up its torn map.
The Republican party had accomplished a great mission. It

A GRUMBLER'S FORECAST. 151

had promised to put down rebellion, and had done so. It had
guaranteed freedom to the slave, and had redeemed its prom
ise. There was nothing more to be done until, in the fullness
of time, new issues should arise, based on new thoughts, new
ideas, and new interests.

This is what the wise men said. But the Fool looked on
with anxious forebodings, and wrote to his old tutor gloomily
of the future that seemed so bright to others : —

WARRINGTON, Dec. 10, 1868.
To DR. E. MARTIN.

My dear old Friend, — Your kind and welcome letter, so full of
congratulations and bright anticipations, was duly received, and for
it I render thanks. Must I confess it, however ? it impresses me with
a feeling of sadness. The state of affairs which you picture does
not exist at the South; and the bright anticipations which you base
upon mistaken premises have, in my opinion, little chance of fulfill
ment. The freedman is just as impotent now of all power of self-
protection as he was before the ballot was given him, — nay, perhaps
more so, as an unskilled person may injure himself with the finest
of Damascus blades. Pray keep in your mind my former classifica
tion. Of every hundred of the blacks, ninety-five at least can not
read or write, ninety-five are landless, and at least eighty have not
sufficient to subsist themselves for thirty days without the aid of
those who are opposed to them in political thought with an inten
sity of prejudice you can not begin to understand. These constitute
three-fourths of the Republican party of the South. Of the remain
der (the whites), twenty-four out of every hundred can not read
their ballots; and fifty-five or sixty of the same number are land
less, being mere day-laborers, or at least renters, " crappers " as
they are called here.

So that of this party, to whom the wise men of the North have
given power, from whom they expect all but impossible things,
three-fourths can not read or write, five-sevenths are landless, two-
thirds are utterly impoverished, and nearly the whole is inexperi
enced in the conduct of public affairs. Yet upon this party the
nation has rolled the burden of restoration, reconstruction, re-organi
zation ! That it will fail is as certain as the morrow's sunrise. For
three years the nation has had this problem on the heads and hearts
of its legislators, and has not made one step towards its solution.
The highest wisdom, the greatest gravity, the profoundest knowl
edge, and that skill which comes only from experience, are indispen-

152 A FOOUS ERRAND.

sably necessary to this task. It is given into the hands of weaklings;
while the great country, whose interest, prosperity, and good faith,
are all involved in securing the liberty conferred by the war, and in
so organizing these new constituent elements that they shall here
after be a source of strength, and not danger, — this country stands
off, and says, " I will not touch one of the least of these burdens with
my little finger. The South must take care of itself."

My dear old friend, it can not be done. The experiment must fail;
and, when it does fail, it will involve us all — us of the South, I mean
— in ruin; but the North, and especially the Republican party of the
North, will be responsible for this ruin, for its shame and its loss, for
the wasted opportunity, and, it may be, for consequent peril. Of
course I shall share it. The North would not see the fact that war
did not mean regeneration, nor perform the duty laid upon it as a
conqueror. The alternative placed before us at the South was a
powerless acceptance of the plan of reconstruction, or opposition
and hostility to the government. I, in common with others, chose
the former. A loyal man could not do otherwise. Now we, and
probably we alone, must share arid bear the blame of its failure. I
protest in advance against it. If, of a steamer's crew of a hundred
men, fifty be deaf-and-dumb, and only five of them all have ever
been afloat, her voyage even in the calmest sea is not likely to be a
safe one; but when it is in a season of typhoons, off a dangerous
coast of which no chart has ever been made, its 'destruction may be
certainly foretold. And, when it perishes amid the breakers of a lee-
shore, the despairing wretches, who call for aid which cometh not,
will curse, not so much the incompetent captain and inefficient
steersman, as the negligent owners who sent her to sea with such a
crew.

It is so with us. We Republicans of the South will go down
with the reconstruction movement. Some of us will make a good
fight for the doomed craft; others will neither realize nor care for its
danger: but on neither will justly rest the responsibility. That will
rest now and for all time with the Republican party of the North, —
a party the most cowardly, vacillating, and inconsistent in its man
agement of these questions, that has ever been known in any gov
ernment.

These are my convictions. I might get away, and avoid this re
sult, so far as I am concerned; but I have cast in my lot with this
people. T have advocated this measure, and I will abide with them
its results.

In fact, my dear Doctor, I begin seriously to fear that the North
lacks virility. This cowardly shirking of responsibility, this pan-

A GRUMBLER'S FORECAST. 153

dering to sentimental whimsicalities, this snuffling whine about
peace and conciliation, is sheer weakness. The North is simply a
conqueror ; and, if the results she fought for are to be secured, she
must rule as a conqueror. Suppose the South had been triumphant,
and had overwhelmed and determined to hold the North ? Before
now, a thoroughly organized system of provincial government would
have been securely established. There would have been no hesita
tion, no subterfuge, no pretence of restoration, because the people
of the South are born rulers, — aggressives, who, having made up
their minds to attain a certain end, adopt the means most likely to
secure it. In this the North fails. She hesitates, palters, shirks.

There is another danger. Rebellion has ended without punish
ment. It is true the South has lost, — lost her men, her money,
her slaves ; but that was only a gambler's stake, the hazard placed
upon the dice. There was talk of " making treason odious." How
that result should be accomplished was a serious question ; but how
to make it honorable, I fear we have found an easy matter to demon
strate.

[_ As I have said, the party, if it may so be called, to whom the
mighty task of rehabilitation has been assigned, must fail at the
South. Already we hear the threat from the highest seats in
the hostile camps, " Just wait until the Blue Coats are gone, and
we will make Sodom and Gomorrah more tolerable than these
States to Republicans ! " They will do it too. They have the
power, the intellect, the organizing capacity, the determined will.
Our numbers only make us a cumbrous rope of sand. Weak, inco
herent particles are not made strong by mere multiplication. In the
struggle against us, the most reckless and unworthy of those who
led in the war will again come to the front. Their success will
make them the heroes of the people, and they will win place and
honor thereby. It will result that turbulent, ambitious men will
hereafter say that the road to honor, renown, fame, and power, in
our nation, lies through the " Traitor's Gate." Burr and his coad
jutors won only shame by their attempt to destroy the nation.
Davis, Lee, and their compatriots have already won a distinction
and eminence they could not have hoped for had they remained
peaceful citizens of the Republic. They are destined to achieve
far greater honor. From this day the prestige of the Federal sol
dier will begin to wane throughout the land. In the course of
another decade, one will almost be ashamed to confess that he wore
the blue. On the other hand, the glory of the Confederate leader
will hourly wax greater and brighter. The latter has a people
devoted and steadfast, to whose pride, even in defeat, he can appeal

154 A FOOUS ERRAND.

with certainty of receiving an unshrinking response. The former
has a country debauched by weak humanitarianisms, more anxious
to avoid the appearance of offending its enemies than desirous of
securing its own power or its own ends. These men who have led
in the Rebellion will not be slow to perceive and take advantage of
their opportunity; and other generations following them will note
the fact that the sure, safe, and brilliant road to fame and success is
an armed rebellion against existing powers. You may think me
discouraged and morbid; but mark my words, old friend, we have
sown to the wind, and shall reap the whirlwind.

Youte truly,

COMFORT SERVOSSE.

So, with foreboding, the Fool looked to the future, and
awaited the event of that great experiment, from the prelim
inaries of which he was only able to presage danger and
disaster.

CHAPTER XXVI.

BALAK AND BALAAM.

THE re-action from subjection to autonomy was so sudden
and astounding, that even the people of the late rebellious
States were unable to realize it for a considerable period.
That a nation, after four years of war, the loss of a million of
men and uncounted millions of treasure, should relax its grip
upon the subjugated territory, relieve its people of all disa
bilities, or only bar from a useless privilege a few superannu
ated leaders, who only thus were susceptible of martyrdom,
and without guaranties for the future, or without power of
reversal or modification, should restore this territory, this peo
ple, these States, to the position of equal, independent, and
co-ordinate sovereignties, was so incredible a proposition, that
years were required for its complete comprehension.

During these years the public press of the South was a

BALAK AND BALAAM. 155

curious study. Immediately after the close of the war, and
until about the period of the rehabilitation of the States, its
utterances were cautious and guarded. While there was almost
always an undertone which might be construed to mean either
sullen hate or unconcealable chagrin, there was little of that
vindictive bitterness toward the North which had immediately
preceded the war, or attended its prosecution. It is true, that,
in some instances, its bottles of unparalleled infamy were un
stopped, and poured on the heads of unoffending citizens of
Northern birth, or those natives who saw fit to affiliate with the
conqueror, or to accept office at his hands. This, however, was
not a universal rule. As soon as the reconstruction period
had passed, this caution relaxed. More and more bitter, more
and more loathsome, became the mass of Southern journalism.
Defiant hostility, bitter animosity, unrestricted libertinism in
the assaults of private character, poured over the columns of
the Southern press like froth upon the jaws of a rabid cur.
Whatever or whoever was of the North or from the North was
the subject of ridicule, denunciation, and immeasurable ma
lignity of vituperation. Whoever had aided, assisted, or as
sented to the process of reconstruction, became a target for
infamous assault. Rank, station, purity of life, uprightness of
character, religious connection, age, sex, were no safeguard from
these assaults. The accumulated malignity of the years of
quietude and suppression burst its bounds, and poured over the
whole country a disgusting flood of hideous, horrible, improba
ble, and baseless accusation and rabid vituperation. Men of
the fairest lives were covered over with unutterable infamy ;
women of the highest purity were accused of unnamable enor
mities ; and even children of tender years were branded with
ineffaceable marks of shame. The previous training which the
press of the South had received in the art of vilification, under
the regime of slavery, became now of infinite service in this
verbal crusade. The mass of their readers had long been accus
tomed to believe any thing absurd and horrible in regard to the
North. To them it was already the land of thieves, adulterers,
infidels, and cheats. There might be good men there; but

156 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

they were counted rarer than in Sodom. For fifty years the
necessities of slavery had rendered the cultivation of such a
sentiment necessary in order to preserve the institution from
the assaults of free labor and free thought. To turn this tide
of public sentiment against the ideas, principles, and men who
were engaged in the work of reconstruction, to intensify its
bitterness, increase its credulity, and make thereby a seven-
times heated furnace of infamy for those who saw fit to favor
this movement, was the assigned work and mission of the
Southern press, and right nobly was it executed. Never was
such unanimity, never was such persistency, never such rivalry
in malevolence, never such munificence in invective, never such
fertility in falsehood.

It was but natural, and in a great measure fair, upon the
principle that all in war is fair. So far as the official repre
sentatives of the government were concerned, they had noth
ing of which to complain. They represented the conqueror;
and if their master was inherently or accidentally too weak to
protect them, or disinclined to compel obedience and respect
from the recently vanquished enemy, it was only the fault of
their employer, whose service was purely voluntary. The
fools who had removed to these States from motives of ease or
profit, engaging in production, manufacture, or trade, ought
not to have complained, because they came among a conquered
people, being of the conqueror, well knowing (or at least they
should have known) the generations of antagonism which war
had fused into hate, and having, therefore, no right to look for
or expect kindliness, favor, or even fair play. If they did so,
it was their own folly.

Those who had most right, or perhaps the sole right, to com
plain, were those among the conquered people who had espoused
the cause of the nation before or after the downfall of the
Confederacy. They had a right to suppose that the conquer
ing power would at least make itself respectable, and would
not permit its supporters to be disgraced by the mere fact of
allegiance to it. It must have been a matter of sincere aston
ishment to the Union man — who during the war, from its

BALAK AND BALAAM. 157

inception to its close, perhaps, had been an uncompromising
opponent of those by whom it was waged, had perhaps fought
and hidden and endured, with a rare faith in that government
from which he was cut off, but to which he had adhered with
marvelous fidelity — to find, after the war, at the first, his
neighbors flocking to him in order to obtain the benefit of his
good word, his intercession with the powers that were, in their
behalf. It must indeed have been a proud day to such when
those who had persecuted came to sue ; and, let it be said to
their credit, rarely was application made to them in vain.
These Union men were a most forgiving people, and not unfre-
quently bestowed the divine favor of forgiveness without price
upon the very men who had wrought them the sorest evil. But
such surprise must have been as nothing compared with the
astonishment with which the Union man must have witnessed,
after the accomplishment of reconstruction, himself made an
object of scorn, and his family visited with contumely and
insult, because of his Union record.

As Jehu Brown said to the Fool in regard to it, —
"I can't understan' it, Colonel. They say our side whipped;
that the Union won, an' the Confederacy lost: an' yit here they
be a-puttin' it on tu me like all possessed day arter day, an'
abusin' my wife an' children too bad for white folks to hear
about, jes cos I was a Union man. There must be some mis
take, Colonel, about the matter. Either 'twas the t'other folks
that surrendered at Appomattox, or else you an' I was on t'other
side, an' hev jes been a-dreamin' that we was Yank an' Union
all this time ! "

The most amazing thing connected with this matter, how
ever, was the fact that the press of the North, almost without
exception, echoed the clamor and invective of the Southern
journals. In order to express their abhorrence for such as
dared to go from the North, thinking to become residents of
the South without an absolute surrender of all that they had
hitherto accounted principle, one who was of more intense
virulence than the others invented a new term, or rather re-
applied one which he had already helped to make infamous.

158 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

The origin of this new vehicle of malignity is said to have
been this. In one of the North-western States, during the
early days of " wild-cat money " as it was termed, a plan was
devised for preventing the solvency of the State banks from
being too readily tested. An organization was formed which
secured its issues by the mortgage of land, which mortgage
the State had power to enforce as upon forfeiture, on behalf
of the creditors, whenever the notes of the organization (thej
called it a bank) "should go to protest." To avoid this con
tingency was then the prime object. As the law had neglected
to provide that banks organized under it should have a perma
nent place of business, this object was for a considerable time
attained by neglecting to open any office, or having any perma
nent place of doing business, and putting their notes in circu
lation by means of agents, who carried the bills about the
country in carpet-bags, and were hence denominated, " Carpet
baggers." It is said that one of these veritable carpet-baggers,
an editor, who during the war had exhausted all the expletives
of which he was master, in denunciation of Lincoln and the
officers and men of the Federal army, and had, in return, been
branded with that term of ineffaceable shame " Copperhead,"
was therefore at a loss for some fresh epithet to bestow upon
the new class whom he had honored with his hate, and sud
denly bethought himself of his own nickname. Whereupon
he shouted, "Carpet-baggers!" Instantly it spread through
the press of the South ; and, with its usual subserviency, that
of the North followed in its lead, and re-echoed its maledic
tions.

The name itself was a stroke of genius. Whoever first be
stowed it on the peripatetic Wisconsin cashier was undoubtedly
akin to the heaven-descended. In all history there is perhaps
no instance of so perfect and complete an epithet. Sans-cu-
lotes is its nearest rival. " Abolitionist," its immediate prede
cessor, has the disadvantage of an etymological significance,
which sometimes interfered with its perfect application.
" Carpet-bagger " had, however, all the essentials of a denun
ciatory epithet in a superlative degree. It had a quaint and

BALAK AND BALAAM. 159

ludicrous sound, was utterly without defined significance, and
was altogether unique. It was susceptible of one significance
in one locality, and another in another, without being open
to any etymological objection. This elasticity of signification
is of prime importance in a disparaging epithet : there is
almost always a necessity for it. " Abolitionist " meant only
one who was in favor of the abolition of slavery. At the
North it had this significance, and no more. At the South
it meant also, one who was in favor of, and sought to promote,
negro-equality, miscegenation, rape, murder, arson, and an
archy, with all the untold horrors which the people there
believed would follow the uprising or liberation of a race of
untaught savages, lustful as apes, bloodthirsty as cannibals,
and artful as satyrs.

So that this formulated difference then prevailed : —

AT THE NORTH.

Abolitionist. — One who favors the emancipation of slaves.

AT THE SOUTH.

Abolitionist. — One who favors emancipation -\- infidel -f-
murderer -|- thief -\- ravisher -[- incendiary -f- all hell's accumu
lated horrors, " not otherwise appropriated."

This epithet, as was said before, was liable to objection
among a people who thought and defined. It was possible to
show by ratiocination, as well as example, that an " aboli
tionist" was not, of necessity, an infidel, nor, ex vi termini, a
murderer or thief. So when an unfortunate minister of the
gospel happened to allow somewhat too much of the Master's
'truth to escape his lips, while tarrying south of Mason's and
Dixon's Line, and was thereupon treated to hickory on his bare
back, or hemp around his gullet, because he was an " aboli
tionist," the North was somewhat shocked at the disproportion
between the offense and punishment; but the South heartily
and honestly rejoiced, and thanked God with renewed devotion,
because, to its apprehension, an inconceivably atrocious monster
had been destroyed from off the face of the earth! And so
the game of cross-purposes went 011.

160 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" Carpet-bagger," which was in some sense the lineal de
scendant of " abolitionist," was, as was very proper for a second
edition, a considerable improvement on its immediate prede
cessor. It was undefined and undefinable. To the Southern
mind it meant a scion of the North, a son of an " abolition
ist," a creature of the conqueror, a witness of their defeat, a
mark of their degradation : to them he was hateful, because
he recalled all of evil or shame which they had ever known.
They hissed the name through lips hot with hate, because his
presence was hateful to that dear, dead Confederacy which
they held in tender memory, and mourned for in widow's
weeds, as was but natural that they should do. They hated
the Northern man, who came among them as the representa
tive and embodiment of that selfish, malign, and envious
North, which had sent forth the " abolitionist " in ante bellum
days, had crushed the fair South in her heroic struggle to
establish a slave-sustained republic, and now had sent spies
and harpies to prey upon, to mock and taunt and jeer them
in their downfall and misfortune. To their minds the word
expressed all that collective and accumulated hate which gen
erations of antagonism had engendered, intensified and sub
limated by the white-heat of a war of passionate intensity
and undoubted righteousness to the hearts of its promoters.
The Northern man who set up his family altar at the South
stood, by natural and almost necessary synecdoche, for the
North. He was to all that portion of the South which arro
gates to itself the term Southern, not only an enemy, but the
representative in miniature of all their enemies. And this he
was of course, and by consequence of his Northern nativity.
It is true, he might in part relieve himself from this imputa
tion ; but it rested upon him to do so. The presumption was
against him; and, in order to rebut it, he must take the
Gaelic oath to "love whom thou lovest, hate whom thou
hatest, bless whom thou blessest, and curse whom thou dost
anathematize."

To the Northern mind, however, the word had no vicarious
significance. To their apprehension, the hatred it embodied

BALAK AND BALAAM. 161

was purely personal, and without regard to race or nativity.
They thought (foolish creatures !) that it was meant to apply
solely to those, who, without any visible means of support,
lingering in the wake of a victorious army, preyed upon the
conquered people.

So these formulated significations prevailed : —

AT THE NORTH.

Carpet-bagger. — A man without means, character, or occupa
tion, an adventurer, a camp-follower, "a bummer."

AT THE SOUTH.

Carpet-bagger. — A man of Northern birth -j- an abolitionist
(according to the Southern definition) -J- an incarnation of
Northern hate, envy, spleen, greed, hypocrisy, and all unclean-
ness.

So the South cursed "carpet-baggers," because they were of
the North ; and the North cursed them because the South set
the example.

In nothing has the South shown its vast moral superiority
over the North more than in this. "I pray thee curse me this
people," it said to the North, first of the " abolitionists," and
then of the " carpet-baggers ; " and the North cursed, not know
ing whom it denounced, and not pausing to inquire whether
they were worthy of stripes or not. Perhaps there is no other
instance in history in which the conquering power has discred
ited its own agents, denounced those of its own blood and
faith, espoused the prejudices of its conquered foes, and poured
the vials of its wrath and contempt upon the only class in the
conquered territory who defended its acts, supported its policy,
promoted its aim, or desired its preservation aiid continuance.

162 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A NEW INSTITUTION.

THERE had been rumors in the air, for some months, of a
strangely mysterious organization, said to be spreading over
the Southern States, which added to the usual intangibility of
the secret society an element of grotesque superstition un
matched in the history of any other.

It was at first regarded as farcical, and the newspapers of the
North unwittingly accustomed their readers to regard it as a
piece of the broadest and most ridiculous fun. Here and there
throughout the South, by a sort of sporadic instinct, bands of
ghostly horsemen, in quaint and horrible guise, appeared, and
admonished the lazy and trifling of the African race, and
threatened the vicious. They claimed to the affrighted
negroes, it was said, to be the ghosts of departed Confederates
who had come straight from the confines of hell^to regulate
affairs about their former homes. *" .

All this was a matter of infinite jest and amusement to the
good and wise people of the North. What could be funnier,
or a more appropriate subject of mirth, than that the chivalric
but humorous and jocose Southrons should organize a ghostly
police to play upon the superstitious fears of the colored people,
who were no doubt very trifling, and needed a good deal of
regulation and restraint V So the Northern patriot sat back in
his safe and quiet home, and laughed himself into tears and
spasms at the grotesque delineations of ghostly K. K. K.'s and
terrified darkies, for months before any idea of there being any
impropriety therein dawned on his mind or on the minds of
the wise men who controlled the affairs of the nation. That a
few hundreds, a few thousands, or even millions, of the colored
race, should be controlled and dominated by their superstitious
fears, deprived of their volition, and compelled to follow the

A NEW INSTITUTION. 163

behests of others, was not regarded as at all dangerous in a
republic, and as worthy of remark only from its irresistibly
amusing character.

It was in the winter of 1868-69, therefore, when the wise
men were jubilant over the success of the Great Experiment;
when it was said that already Reconstruction had been an
approved success, the traces of the war been blotted out, and
the era of the millennium anticipated, — that a little company
of colored men came to the Fool one day ; and one of them,
who acted as spokesman, said, —

" What's dis we hear, Mars Kunnel, bout de Klux ? "

" The what? " he asked.

" De Klux — de Ku-Kluckers dey calls demselves."

"Oh! the Ku-Klux, Ku-Klux-Klan, K. K. K.'s, you mean."

"Yes: dem folks what rides about at night a-pesterin' pore
colored people, an' a-pertendin' tu be jes from hell, or some of
de battle-fields ob ole Virginny."

" Oh, that's all gammon ! There is nothing in the world in
it, — nothing at all. Probably a parcel of boys now and then
take it into their heads to scare a few colored people ; but
that's all. It is mean and cowardly, but nothing more. You
needn't have any trouble about it, boys."

" An' you tink dat's all, Kunnel ? "

" All ? Of course it is ! What else should there be? "

"I dunno, Mars Kunnel," said one.

"You don't think dey's ghostses, nor nothin' ob dat sort?"
asked another.

" Think ! I know they are not. "

" So do I," growled one of their number who had not spoken
before, in a tone of such meaning that it drew the eyes of the
Fool upon him at once.

" So your mind's made up on that point too, is it, Bob?" he
asked laughingly.

" I know dey's not ghosts, Kunnel. 1 wish ter God dey was !"
was the reply.

" Why, what do you mean, Bob ? " asked the colonel in
surprise.

164 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"Will you jes help me take off my shirt, Jim?" said Bob
meaningly, as he turned to one of those with him.

The speaker was taller than the average of his race, of a
peculiarly jetty complexion, broad-shouldered, straight, of com
pact and powerful build. His countenance, despite its black
ness, was sharply cut; his head well shaped; and his whole
appearance and demeanor marked him as a superior specimen
of his race. Servosse had seen him before, and knew him well
as -an industrious and thrifty blacksmith, living in a distant
part of the county, who was noted as being one of the most
independent and self-reliant of his people in all political as
well as pecuniary matters, — Bob Martin by name.

When his clothing had been removed, he turned his back
towards the Fool, and, glancing over his shoulder, said
coolly, —

" What d'ye tink ob dat, Runnel ? "

"My God!" exclaimed the Fool, starting back in surprise
and horror. " What does this mean, Bob ? "

" Seen de Kluckers, sah," was the grimly-laconic answer.

The sight which presented itself to the Fool's eyes was truly
terrible. The broad muscular back, from the nape down to
and below the waist, was gashed and marked by repeated
blows. Great furrows were plowed in the black integument,
whose greenly-livid lips were drawn back, while the coagulated
fibrine stretched across, and mercifully protected the lacerated
flesh. The whole back was livid and swollen, bruised as if it
had been brayed in a mortar. Apparently, after having cut
the flesh with closely-laid welts and furrows, sloping downward
from the left side towards the right, with that peculiar skill in
castigation which could only be obtained through the abundant
opportunity for severe and deliberate flagellation which pre
vailed under the benign auspices of slavery, the operator had
changed his position, and scientifically cross-checked the whole.
That he was an expert whose skill justified Bob's remark —
"Nobody but an ole oberseer ebber dun dat, Kunnel" — was
evident even on a casual inspection. The injury which the man
had sustained, though extensive and severe, was not dangerous

A NEW INSTITUTION. 165

to one of his constitution and hardened physique. To the eye
of the Northern man who gazed at it, however, unused as are
all his compeers to witness the effects of severe whipping, it
seemed horrible beyond the power of words to express. He
did not reflect that the African could have had none of that
sense of indignity and degradation with which the Caucasian
instinctively regards the application of the emblem of servility,
and that he was but fulfilling the end of his dusky being in
submitting to such castigation. He was filled with anger, sur
prise, and horror.

" What ? — Who ? — How ? My God ! Tell me all about
it. Can't I do something for you, my man ? "

"Thank ye, Kunnel, nothing," said Bob seriously. "It's
been washed in salt an' water. Dat's de bes' ting dere is to
take out de soreness ; an' it's doin as well as can be expected,
I s'pose. I don't know much 'bout sech matters, Boss. I'se
bin a slave goin' on forty-three years, but never hed a lash on
my back sence I was a waitin'-boy till las' night."

His face was working with passion, and his eyes had a wicked
fire in them, which clearly showed that he did not take this
visitation in such a subdued and grateful spirit as his position
properly demanded that he should. When his clothing had
been resumed, he sat down and poured into the wondering ears
of the Fool this story : —

BOB'S EXPERIENCE.

"Yer see, I'se a blacksmith at Burke's Cross-Eoads. I've
been thar ever sence a few days arter I heerd ob de surrender.
I rented an ole house dar, an' put up a sort of shop, an' got
togedder a few tools, an' went to work. It's a right good stari'.
Never used ter be ob any count, coz all de big plantations roun'
dar hed der own smifs. But now de smifs hez scattered off,
an' dey hev ter pay fer der work, dey finds it cheaper ter come
ter my shop dan ter hire a blacksmif when dey's only half work
fer him to do. So I'se been doin' right well, an' hev bought
de house an' lot, an' got it all paid fer, tu. I've allers tended
to my own business. 'Arly an' late Bob's bin at his shop, an'

166 A FOOUS ERRAND.

allers at work. I 'llowed to get me a snug home fer myself
an' de ole 'ooman afore we got tu old ter work ; an' I wanted
to give de boys an' gals a little eddication, an' let em hev a
fa'r start in life wid de rest ob de worP, if I could. Dat's what
Bob's bin wukkin' fer ; an' der ain't no man n-er woman, black
ner white, can say he hain't wukked honestly and fa'rly, —
honestly an' fa'rly, ebbery day sence he's bin his own master.

"Long a while back — p'raps five er six months — I refused
ter du some work fer Michael Anson or his boy, 'cause they'd
run up quite a score at de shop, an' allers put me off when I
wanted pay. I couldn't work jes fer de fun ob scorin' it down:
so I quit. It made smart ob talk. Folks said I waz gettin' too
smart fer a nigger, an' sech like ; but I kep right on ; tole em
I waz a free man, — not born free, but made free by a miracle,

— an' I didn't propose ter do any man's work fer noffin'. Most
everybody hed somefin' to say about it ; but it didn't seem ter
hurt my trade very much. I jes went on gittin' all I could do,
an' sometimes moah. I s'pose I acted pretty independent: I
felt so, anyhow. I staid at home, an' axed nobody any favors.
I know'd der wa'n't a better blacksmif in de country, an'
thought I hed things jes' ez good ez I wanted 'em. When ther
come an election, I sed my say, did my own votin', an' tole de
other colored people dey waz free, an' hed a right ter du de
same. Thet's bad doctrine up in our country. De white folks
don't like ter hear it, and 'specially don't like ter hear a nigger
say it. Dey don't mind 'bout our gittin' on ef dey hev a mort
gage, so't de 'arnin's goes into ther pockets ; nor 'bout our
votin', so long ez we votes ez dey tells us. Dat's dare idea uv
liberty fer a nigger.

" Well, here a few weeks ago, I foun' a board stuck up on my
shop one morriin', wid dese words on to it : —

" ' BOB MARTIN, — You're gettin' too dam smart ! The white folks
round Burke's Cross-Koads don't want any sech smart niggers
round thar. You'd better git, er you'll hev a call from the

'"K. K. K.'

"I'd heerd 'bout the Klux, an' 'llowd jes' ez you did, Kunnel,

— dat dey waz some triflin' boys dat fixed up an' went round jes'

A NEW INSTITUTION. 167

ter scare pore ignorant niggers, an' it made me all the madder
ter think dey should try dat ar game on me. So I sed boldly,
an' afore everybody, thet ef the Kluckers wanted enny thin' uv
Bob Martin, they'd better come an' git it; thet I didn't 'bleve
any nonsense about ther comin' straight from hell, an' drinkin'
the rivers dry, an' all that : but, ef they'd come ter meddle with
me, I 'llowed some on 'em mout go to hell afore it was over.

" I worked mighty hard an' late yesterday, an', when I went
into de house, I was so tired thet I jes' fell down on de
trundle-bed dat hed bin pulled out in front ob de souf do'.
When my ole 'ooman got supper ready, an' called me, I jes'
turned over, an' was that beat out an' sleepy, that I tole her to
let me alone. So I lay thar, an' slep'. She put away de
supper-tings, an' tuk part ob de chillen into bed wid her; an'
de rest crawled in wid me, I s'pose. I donno nothin' about it,
fer I nebber woke up till some time in de night. I kinder
remember hearin' de dog bark, but I didn't mind it ; an', de fust
ting I knew, de do' was bust in, an' fell off de hinges ober on de
trundle-bed whar I was lyin'. It's a mercy I was thar. I
don't s'pose I've lain down on it fer a year afore, an', ef de chil
len hed all been thar alone, it's mor'n likely they'd all been
killed. They hed taken a house-log I hed got (tinkin' ter put
up a kitchen arter Christmas), an' free or four of 'em hed
run wid it endwise agin de do'. So, when I woke from
de crash, I hed do' an' house-log bofe on me, an' de ole
'ooman an' chillen screamin', so't I couldn't make out fer a
minnit what it was, er whar I was. De moon was a-shinin'
bright, an' I 'spect de rascals fought I'd run, an' dey wrould
shoot me as I come out. But, as soon as dey saw me heavin'
an' strugglin' under de do', two on 'em run in, an' got on top of
it. It was no use fer me to struggle any more under dat load.
Besides dat, I was feared dey'd kill de chillen. So I tole
'ern ef dey'd get off, an' spar' de chillen, I'd surrender. Dey
wouldn't bleve me, dough, till dey'd tied my han's. Den dey
got off de do', an' I riz up, an' kind o' pushed it an' de house-
log off de trundle-bed. Den dey pulled me out o' do's. Dar
was 'bout tirty of 'em standin' dar in de moonlight, all

168 A FOOUS ERRAND.

dressed in black gowns thet come down to ther boots, an' some
sort of high hat on, dat come down ober der faces, jes' leavin'
little holes ter see fru, an' all trimmed wid different colored
cloth, but mos'ly white.

" I axed 'em what dey wanted o' me. Dey sed I was gittin
tu dam smart, an' dey'd jes' come roun' ter teach me some
little manners. Den dey tied me tu a tree, an' done what
you've seen. Dey tuk my wife an' oldes' gal out ob de house,
tore de close nigh about off 'em, an' abused 'em shockin' afore
my eyes. Arter tarin' tings up a heap in de house, dey rode
off, tellin' me dey reckoned I'd larn to be 'spectful to white
folks herearter, an' not refuse to work unless I hed pay in
advance, an' not be so anxious 'bout radical votes. Den my
ole woman cut me loose, an' we went into de house ter see what
devilment dey'd done dar. We called de chillen. Dar's five
on 'em, — de oldes' a gal 'bout fifteen, an' de younges' only
little better'n a year ole. We foun' 'em all but de baby. I
don' tink he ebber breaved arter de do' fell on us."

The tears stood in the eyes of the poor man as he finished.
The Fool looked at him in a glamour of amazement, pity, and
shame. He could not help feeling humiliated, that, in his own
Christian land, one should be so treated by such a cowardly-
seeming combination, simply for having used the liberty which
the law had given him to acquire competence and independ
ence by his own labor.

"Why have you not complained of this outrage to the
authorities ? " he asked after a moment.

" I tole Squire Haskins an' Judge Thompson what I hev tole
you," answered Bob.

" And what did they say V "

"Dat dey couldn't do noffin' unless I could sw'ar to de
parties."

" Did you not recognize any of them ? "

"Not to say recognize ; dat is, not so dat I could tell you so
dat you could know de persons as de ones I named. I'm nigh
'bout sartin, from a lot of little tings, who dey was; but I
couldn't sw'ar."

A NEW INSTITUTION. 169

" Did you not know the voices of any of them ? "

"Yes, I did. But de judge says I would jes' be makin'
trouble fer myself to no 'count; fer he says no jury would
convict on sech evidence when unsupported."

"I suppose he is right," mused the Colonel. "And there
does not seem to be any way for you to get redress for what
has been done to you, unless you can identify those who did
the injury so clearly that no jury can resist a conviction.
I suppose the vast majority of jurymen will be disinclined
even to do justice. Perhaps some of the very men who were
engaged in the act may be on the jury, or their brothers,
fathers, or friends. So it would be useless for you to attempt
a prosecution unless you had the very strongest and clearest
testimony. I doubt not the judge was right in the advice he
gave you."

"And do you tink der is any chance o' my gittin' sech
testimony ? " asked Bob.

"I confess," answered the Fool, "that I see very little.
Time and care might possibly enable you to get it."

" Der's no hope o' dat, — no hope at all," answered the freed-
man sadly.

There was a moment's silence. Then the colored man
asked,—

"Isn't dere no one else, Kunnel, dat could do any ting?
Can't de President or Congress do somefin'? De gov'ment
sot us free, an' it 'pears like it oughtn't to let our old masters
impose on us in no sech way now. I ain't no coward, Kunnel,
an' I don't want to brag ; but I ain't 'feared of no man. I
don't min' sufferin' nor dyin' ef I could see any good to come
from it. I'd be willin' ter fight fer my liberty, er fer de coun
try dat give me liberty. But I don't tink liberty was any
favor ef we are to be cut up an' murdered jes' de same as in
slave times, an' wuss too. Bob'll take keer of himself, an' his
wife an' chillen too, ef dey'll only give him a white man's
chance. But ef men can come to his house in de middle ob
de night, kill his baby, an' beat an' abuse him an' his family
ez much ez dey please, jes' by puttin' a little black cloth ober
der faces, I may ez well give up, an' be a slave agin."

170 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" If it keeps on, and grows general," responded the Cauca
sian, "the government will have to interfere. The necessity
will be such that they can not resist it. I don't quite see
how it can be done, now that these States are restored ; but
the government must protect the lives of its citizens, and it
ought to protect their liberties. I don't know how it may be
done. It may declare such acts treasonable, and outlaw the
offenders, authorizing any man to kill them when engaged in
such unlawful acts."

" If dey would only do dat, Kunnel, we'd soon put an end
to de Ku-Kluckers. We'd watch de roads, an', ebery time
dey rode frue de bushes, dere'd be some less murderin* Kluckers
dan when dey started out. Hav' 'em du dat, Kunnel, an' we's
all right. Jes' gib us a fa'r chance, an' de culled men'll tak'
keer o' dersel's. We ain't cowards. We showed dat in de
wah. I'se seen darkeys go whar de white troops wa'n't
anxious to f oiler 'em, mor'n once."

" Where was that, Bob? "

" Wai, at Fo't Wagner, for one."

" How did you know about that? "

" How did I know 'bout dat ? Bress yer soul, Kunnel, I was
dar!"

" How did that happen ? I thought you were raised in the
up country here ? "

" So I was, Kunnel ; but, when I heerd dat Abram Linkum
had gib us our freedom, I made up my mine I'd go an' git
my sheer, an', ef dar was any ting I could do to help de rest
of my folks to git dars, I was gwine ter du it. So I managed
to slip away, one wayer 'nother, an' got fru de lines down
'bout Charleston, an' jined de Fifty-fo' Massachusetts Culled,
Kunnel. Dat's how I come to be at Wagner."

" That explains, in part, the feeling against you, I suppose,"
said Servosse.

" It s'plains annudder ting tu, Kunnel," said the colored
man doggedly.

" What is that? " asked the white ex-soldier.

" It s'plains why, ef dere's any mo' Kluckers raidin' roun'

A NEW INSTITUTION. 171

Burke's Corners, dar'll be some funerals tu," was the grim
reply.

" I can't blame you, Bob," said the white man, looking
frankly into his face as it worked with agony and rage.
" A man has a right to protect himself and his family ; and,
if our government is too blind or too weak to put down this
new rebellion, there are only three courses before us, — you and
me, and those who stood with us : the one is to fight the
devil with fire, — to kill those who kill, — guard the fords,
and, whenever we see a man in disguise, shoot him down ;
another is to give up every thing else for the privilege of
living here; and the third is to get away."

" It will come to dat, Kunnel. Ef de gubment won't take
keer o' de darkeys y'her, an' gib 'em a white man's chance,
dey'll run away, jes* ez dey did in slave times. Dat's my
notion," said the freedman, who had fought to save the life
of the nation, whiqh would not lift a finger to save his in
return.

" God only knows," answered the soldier, who had been
branded as a " Carpet-bagger " throughout the land, because
he was born at the North, had fought for the country, and
thought he had a right to live where he chose.

A hearty dinner and a glass of liquor were the only sub
stantial benefits which he could confer on the suffering fellow,
who went away with his companions to consult with friends
in the village which had grown up as the colored suburb of
Verdenton, and was now known as Huntsville, being named
from the owner of the plantation out of which it was princi
pally carved. It had been sold at public sale, and bought up
by the Fool, who had divided it up into lots, and sold it out in
this manner, together with a part of Warrington.

It was a new and terrible revelation to the Fool. lie saw at
once how this potent instrumentality might be used so as to
effectually destroy the liberty of the newly enfranchised citi
zen, and establish a serfdom more barbarous and horrible than
any on earth, because it would be the creature of lawless
insolence. He saw, too, that this might easily be effected

172 A FOOUS ERRAND.

without any tangible and punishable violation of the law.
His heart was wrung in agony for his poor neighbors. For
himself, it did not yet occur to him to fear.

There was much excitement in the little village of Huntsville
that day. Betwixt fear and rage, the heart of every one was
in a ferment at the outrage committed upon Bob Martin. For
once, Uncle Jerry iorgot his accustomed prudence, and moved
by a very unreasonable anger at the impotency of the law,
which could not punish those who could not be clearly identi
fied, he openly and boldly declared the monstrous doctrine that
the colored people ought to defend themselves and each other.
That he should entertain such ideas was in itself a misfor
tune ; that he should give expression to such incendiary no
tions was a fatal error.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A BUNDLE OF DRY STICKS.

To show more clearly the surroundings of the Fool, we make
a few extracts from his little book, and records which he had
collected and preserved, apparently in illustration of this inter
esting era.

The first is from a friend in a distant county : —

" The Ku-Klux have appeared in our county. I have been warned
to leave within twenty days. A coffin was put at my door last night.
I don't know what to do. It would leave my family very badly off
if any thing should happen to me. All I have is invested here, and
I am afraid they will get me if I remain."

The next was from an adjoining county : —

" Three colored men were whipped by the K. K. K. a few miles
from this place on Saturday night. One of them I do not know:
the others were as good colored men as there ever were in the
county. The reason given was, that they had been sassy : the true

A BUNDLE OF DRY STICKS. 173

reason is believed to be that they were acquiring property, and
becoming independent. Can nothing be done ? Our people are
becoming very much excited. I am afraid this thing will lead to
trouble."

The next was from still another county : —

" It seems as if things were getting too bad to think of with us.
Two white and three colored men were terribly beaten in this coun
ty on Wednesday night. On Friday night two colored men were
hanged. They were accused of arson; but there was not a particle
of evidence of their guilt: indeed, quite the contrary; and they
were men of good character, industrious, and respectful."

Again from the same : —

" James Leroy was hanged by the Ku-Klux on Tuesday night,
his tongue being first cut out, and put in his pocket. He was accused
of having slandered a white woman. The truth is, he was an inde
pendent colored man (though nearly as white as you or I), who could
read and write, and was consequently troublesome on election-day,
by preventing fraud upon his fellows."

Another : —

" The K. K. K. paraded in this town last night. There were
about two hundred of them, all disguised, as well as their horses.
They fired six shots into my house. Fortunately no one was there.
We had news of their coming a little before their arrival, and I had
time to get my family out into the corn-field south of the house.
My wife and the servants took the children along the corn-rows to
the woods. I staid in the corn near the house with my gun, deter
mined to kill some one if they attempted to fire the house, as I sup
posed they would. My family staid in the woods all night. They
tried to get hold of some of our prominent colored friends, but they
also had escaped. They went into Allen Gordon's house, and, find
ing him gone, beat and abused his wife and family shockingly, and
took his bed-cord out of the bed, saying they were going to hang
John Chavis, who fired at them when they were here before. They
went to Chavis's house. He was seen to leave a little while before,
and it is hoped they missed him; but nothing has been seen of him
since. He may have gone clean off, but it is not like him to do so."

Here is one from our old friend, Dr. Garnett : —

"Mv DEAR FRIEND, — It seems that it is even worse to be a
' native ' here, ' and to the manner born,' if one presumes to disagree
with his neighbors, than to be a ' carpet-bagger,' such as you are

174 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

called; for the evil of which I lately warned you has befallen me.
Night before last the Ku-Klux came. I had never believed they
would attack me; but I had not neglected making some simple and
obvious precautions for such a contingency. You know my house
is a perfect blockhouse anyhow. It was first made of hewed logs,
closely chinked, and afterwards weather-boarded, and ceiled with
inch lumber on the inside. Since the K. K. K. came in vogue, I had
put heavy wooden bars across the doors, and added heavy inside
shutters of inch boards to the windows, with little loop-holes at the
side in case of attack. It was a bright night, not moonlight, but
starry. I had been out late; and, after getting supper, we were
having family prayers before retiring. We always lock every thing
about the house at dark. My wife and daughter Louisa were all
that were at home with me. During the prayer, my wife, who was
kneeling nearest the front-door, came over, and, touching me on the
shoulder, said, ' They have come! '

"I knew to whom she referred at once; and, adding one brief
petition for help, I closed my prayer. There were evident sounds of
footsteps crowding the little front-porch by that time. Then there
came a rap on the door, and a demand that it be opened. This I re
fused to do, ordered them to leave my premises, and warned them
that they remained at their peril. I gave my wife and daughter each
a revolver. They are both delicate women, as you know; but they
have learned to handle fire-arms for just such an occasion, and they
did not quail. By this time those outside were assailing both the
front and back doors. I looked out at one of my little port-holes, and
could see them standing about the porch. A good many shots were
fired also at the doors and windows. I thought I ought not to wait
any longer; and so, with a prayer for myself and for my enemies out
side, I put my gun to the port-hole, glanced along it, and pulled the
trigger. There was a shriek, a groan, and a hurrying of feet away
from the door. When the smoke cleared away, I thought I could see
one of those cloaked and hooded forms lying across the path before
the house. I dared not go out to proffer aid or bring him in, lest the
others should be in ambush, and fall upon me. My sight is not first-
rate ; but Louisa said she could see them lurking about the fence and
bushes before the house. After this the attack seemed to cease. I
was on the alert, however, believing them to be as ruthless and reck
less as wild Indians on the war-path. Presently, watching to
wards the front, I saw two figures come softly and cautiously up the
road, and after a time into the yard. They stole along from tree to
shrub like murderous red-skins, and I was about to fire on them,
when they stopped at the body lying across the path. They con-

A BUNDLE OF DRY STICKS. 175

suited a moment, evidently examining the body; then one went off,
and led a horse up to the gate. They lifted up the hody, taking it
between them to the horse, and with no little difficulty placed it
across the saddle, and lashed it around the horse; then they rode
off, and, as they passed up the hill by the Widow Johnson's, we could
hear that there were a good many. We kept watch until morning,
but neither saw nor heard any thing more of them. As soon as it
was good light, I went out and examined the path. There was a
great pool of blood, which had also dripped along the path to the
gate, and beyond that in the road. Getting on my horse, and taking
my gun, I followed the trail of blood until it crossed the Little
Rocky River, after which I lost it.

" I have strong suspicions as to who were in the party. To-day
there was a funeral down in the Fork, of a man who was kicked by a
mule yesterday morning. The undertaker who buried him said he
was already laid out when he came to the house, and some men who
were there insisted on putting him in the coffin. When the under
taker was putting the cover down, however, he got a chance to put
his hand down on the head of the corpse. He says, if that man was
killed by a mule, it must have been a remarkably tall one. It seems
impossible; yet I can not but suspect that this man was the leader,
and that he died by my hand. Strange as it seems now, I have often
met him at the Lord's table. He was a very active member of the
church, and was a superintendent of a sabbath school.

" I have even a stranger fact to record. You remember my
daughter's hair was a soft light brown. It was so the night of the
attack. In the morning it was streaked with gray, and now it is
almost as silvery as mine. She is but twenty-three. Ah! these vil
lains have a terrible sight of crime and agony to answer for. I hear
they are raiding all about the country, whipping and mutilating
without restraint. Can nothing be done ? Is our government so
weak that it can not protect its citizens at home ?

" Yours,
"GEORGE D. GARNETT."

But why give extracts from letters showing the horror of that
time ? Here is a document which shows more conclusively
than a thousand letters could its abounding terrors, because the
testimony is unconscious and unwitting. It is a letter from the
governor of the State, addressed to Colonel Comfort Servosse.
It seems the latter had an appointment to visit the town of

P in a neighboring county, perhaps on some public duty;

and the chief Executive wrote thus to him : —

176 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" DEAR SIR, — I must beg that you will not go to P on next

Monday. Your life has been threatened in the most open and defi
ant manner. Our friends have been warned, and they implore me
to induce you not to hazard your life by so doing. As you know, I
can give you no protection, but feel it my duty to give you this
warning, and hope it may not come too late.

" Yours truly,

" Governor."

The Fool was not one of those who could be advised : so he
wrote, in answer to this letter, —

" To , GOVERNOR.

" My dear Sir, — I have received very many warnings of a simi
lar nature to yours in regard to going to P . I have no doubt

but that there is a settled purpose to execute the threat too; but, as
my duty calls ine there at that time, I shall go, and leave the result
with Him who presides over our destinies.

" Yours gratefully,

"COMFORT SERVOSSE."

So he went, and by some good fortune came safely home
again, very greatly to his own amazement.

CHAPTER XXIX.

FOOTING UP THE LEDGER.

ONE morning in the early winter, Squire Hyman came to
Warrington at a most unusual hour. Comfort and his family
were just sitting down to their early breakfast when he was
announced. The servant stated that he had declined to join
in the meal, but had taken a seat by the sitting-room fire.
Lily, who was a prime favorite with the old man, went at once
to persuade him to come and breakfast with them. She re
turned with the unexpected visitor, but no persuasions could
induce him to partake with them. He seemed very much
disturbed, arid said, as he sat down in the chimney-corner, —

FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. Ill

" No, I thank you kindly. I just came over to have a little
«hat, and perhaps get a little neighborly advice, if so be the
colonel would be good enough to give it."

"I hope there is nothing wrong with you at home," said
Servosse, with real anxiety; for the old man seemed greatly
disturbed.

"I'm afraid, Colonel," he replied, with a deep sigh, "that
there's a good deal of wrong, a good deal, — a heap more and
a heap worse than I had ever counted on."

" Why, no one sick, I hope ? " said the colonel.

" No, not sick exactly," was the reply; " worse'n that. The
truth is. Colonel, the Ku-Klux took out my boy Jesse last
night, and beat him nigh about to death."

" Shocking ! You don't say ! " burst from his listeners. The
meal was abandoned ; and, gathering near the old man, they
listened to his story.

" You see," he said, " Jesse had been into town yesterday,
and came home late last night. So far as I can learn, it must
have been nine o'clock or so when he started out: at least,
'twan't far from twelve o'clock when he came through the little
piece of timber on the far side of my house (you know the
place well, Colonel, and you too, Madam; for you have ridden
by it often, — just in the hollow, this side the blacksmith's
shop), when all at once a crowd of men burst out of the woods
and bushes, all hidden with masks and gowns, and after some
parley took him into the woods, tied him to a tree, and beat
him horribly with hickories. Jesse said he hadn't no chance
to fight at all. They were all on him almost afore he knew it.
He did kick about a little, and managed to pull the mask off
from one fellow's face. This seemed to make them madder
than ever, though they needn't have been; for he says he didn't
know the man from Adam, even when he saw his face. How
ever, that didn't make no difference. They took him out
and whipped him, because they said he was a 'nigger-loving
Radical.' "

. " Poor fellow ! Is he seriously injured V " asked Comfort in
alarm.

178 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"I don't know as to that, Colonel," answered Hyman, "and
it don't much matter. He's been whipped, and it could not be
worse if he were dead. Indeed," continued the old man as he
gazed sadly into the fire, " I would rather know that he was
dead. He'd better be dead than be so disgraced! Did you
ever know, Colonel, that the Supreme Court of this State once
decided that whipping was worse than hanging? "

" No," said Comfort, "I never heard of such a thing."

" They did, though," said the old squire. " I don't recollect
the precise case; but you will find it in our reports, if you care
to look for it. You see the Legislature had changed the pun
ishment for some crime from hanging to whipping, and had
repealed the old law. The result was, that some fellow, who
was afterwards convicted of an offense committed before the
passage of the act, appealed on the ground that whipping was an
aggravation of the death-penalty, and the Court held with him.
They were right too, — just right. I'd a heap rather my poor
Jesse was dead than to think of him lying there, and mourning
and groaning in his shame. If it had been openly done, it
would not have been so bad; then he could have killed the
man who did it, or been killed in the attempt to get a gentle
man's revenge. But to be whipped like a dog, and not even
know who did it; to think that the very one who comes to
sympathize as a friend may be one of the crowd that did it,—
oh ! it is too much, too much ! "

" Indeed," said the Fool, with an awkward attempt at con
solation, "it is too bad ; but you must console yourself, Squire,
with the reflection that your son has never done any thing
to deserve such treatment at his neighbor's hands."

" That's the worst part on't, Colonel," said the old man hotly.
" He's a good boy, Jesse is, an' he always has been a good boy.
I don't say it 'cause he's mine, nor 'cause he's the only one
that's left, but because it's true; and everybody knows it's
true. He's never been wild nor dissipated, — not given to
drinkin' nor frolickin'. He was nothin' but a boy when the
war came on ; but when my older boy, Phil, — the same as was
killed at Gettysburg, — went away, Jesse took hold as steady

FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. 179

and regular as an old man to help me on the plantation. You
know I'm gittin' old, and hain't been able to git about much
this many a year, so as to look after the hands, an' keep things
a-goin' as they ought to be. Well, boy as he was, Jesse raised
two as good crops as we've had on the plantation in a long
time. Then when they called for the Junior Reserves, toward
the last of the war, he went and 'listed in the regular army
'bout Richmond, and took his share of the fightin' from that
on. An' when it was over, an' the niggers free, an'«all that,
he didn't stop to dawdle round, and cuss about it, but went
right to work, hired our old niggers, — every one of whom
would lay down his life for Jesse, — an' just said to me, ' Now,
Dad, don't you have any trouble. You just sit quiet, an' smoke
yer pipe, an' poke 'round occasionally to see that things is
goin' right round the house an' barn-lot, an' keep Ma from
grievin' about Phil, and I'll run the plantation.' An' when I
told him how bad off I was, owin' for some of the niggers that
was now free, and a right smart of security-debts beside, and
the State-script and bank-stock worth almost nothin', he didn't
wince nor falter, but just said, 'You just be easy, Pa. I'll
take care of them things. You just keep Ma's spirits up, and
I'll look out for the rest.'

" You know how that boy's worked, Colonel, early and late,
year after year, as if he had nothing to look forward to in life
only payin' his old father's debts, and makin' of us com
fortable. He never meddled with nobody else's business, but
just stuck to his own all the time, — all the time! An' then to
think he should be whipped, by our own folks too, just like a
nigger ! — and all because he was a Radical !

" S'pose he was a Radical, Colonel : hadn't he a right to be?
You're a Radical, ain't ye ? and a Carpet-bagger too ? Have
they any right to take you out an' whip you? I reckon you
don't think so ; but it's a heap worse to mistreat one of our
own folks, — one that fought for the South, and not agin her.
Don't ye think so, Colonel ?

" Well, it's natural you shouldn't see the difference; but I do.
S'pose he was a Radical V He didn't have nothing to say about

180 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

it, — just went an' voted on 'lection-day, and come home again.
Are they goin' to whip men, an' ruin them, for that ? I
declare, Colonel, I'm an old man, and a man of peace too, and
a magistrate ; but I swear to God, if I knew who it was that had
done this business, I'd let him know I could send a load of
buckshot home yet : damned if I wouldn't !

"Beg pardon, Madam," he continued, as he remembered
Metta's presence; "but you must allow for the feelings of a
father. I'm not often betrayed into such rudeness, Madam, —
not often.

"But Colonel," he went on meditatively, "do you know I
don't think that was more than half the reason the Ku-Klux
beat Jesse ? "

"No?" said the Fool. "What else had he done to awaken
their animosity ? "

" He's been your friend, Colonel, — always your friend ; and
he thinks, and I think too, that what he's been made to suffer
has been more on your account than his own. You know
they've been a-threatenin' and warnin' you for some time, and
you haven't paid no heed to it. When they rode off last night,
they told Jesse he might tell his 'damned Radical Yankee
friend Servosse that they were comin' for him next time.'

"Jesse's mighty troubled about it, for he thinks a heap of
you all ; and he wanted me to come right over here, and let you
know, so that, bein' forewarned, you might be fore-armed."

" Poor fellow ! " said tlie Fool. " It was very kind and
thoughtful of him. It is altogether too bad that any one
should suffer merely for being my friend."

" Well, you know how our people are, Colonel," said the old
man, with the impulses of a life still strong upon him to make
excuse for that people whose thought he had always indorsed
hitherto, and whose acts he had always excused, if he could
not altogether approve, — "you know how they are. They
can't stand nobody else meddlin' with their institutions ; and
your ideas are so radical ! I shouldn't have wondered if it had
been you, — candidly, Colonel, I shouldn't, — but that they
should do so to my boy, one that's native here, of good family

FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. 181

(if I do say it), and that never troubled nobody, — it's too
bad, too bad ! "

" Yes, indeed ! " said the Fool. " And I must go and see him
at once. I don't suppose I can do him any good, but I must
let him know how I sympathize with him."

" That brings me around to the rest of my errand," said the
old man. " I am so upsot by this thing, that I like to have
clean forgotten it. He 'llowed you'd be comin' to see him as
soon as you heard of it, and he wanted me to tell you that he
couldn't see anybody now (not while he's in this condition,
you know) ; but he — he wanted I should say to you — say
to you," he repeated, with the tears running over his face,
"that he was goin' to Injianny to-night, and he would be glad
if you could give him some letters to any friends you may have
in the West. You know he can't stay here any more (not
after this) ; and he thought it might be well enough to have
some introduction, so as not to be exactly goin' among strangers,
you know."

" He will take the train at Yerdenton, I suppose," said the
Fool.

"Yes, I s'pose so," answered the old man. "He hain't
made no arrangements yet, an' it'll be a hard thing for him to
ride there in his condition."

" Has he any particular point to which he wishes to go ? "

"None at all — just to get away, you know: that's all he
goes for."

" Yes," said the Fool thoughtfully ; then, after a moment, he
continued decisively, " See here, Squire ! You tell the boy not
to trouble himself about the matter, but keep quiet, and I will
arrange it for him. He must not think of going to-night, but
you may give out that he has gone. I will come for him
to-night, and bring him here ; and after a time he can go West,
and find himself among friends."

This arrangement was carried out, almost against the will
of the one most concerned ; and it was under the roof of the
" carpet-bagger " that the outraged " native " found refuge
before he fled from the savage displeasure of the people who
eould not suffer him to differ with them in opinion.

182 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

In his behalf the Fool wrote a letter to the Reverend Theophl-
lus Jones, detailing to him the event which this chapter narrates,
and the condition of the young man at that time. To this
letter he received the following reply : —

WEDGEWORTH, KAN.

MY DEAR SIR, — Your very interesting letter has awakened strange
memories. It is only twelve years ago that Brother James Stiles and
myself were interrupted in the midst of a gospel service at a place
called Flat Rock by a mob, which was said to have been put upon
our track by your neighbor Nathaniel Hynian, because we preached
the word of God as it had been delivered unto us, and denounced
the sin of slavery according to the light that was given us.

We were sorely beaten with many stripes ; but we continued
instant in prayer for them who did despitefully use us, calling out
to each other to be of good cheer, and, even in the midst of their
scourging, praying, in the words of the blessed Saviour 011 the
cross, —

''Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."

When they loosed our bonds, we gave thanks that we were per
mitted to bear testimony to the truth, even with our blood, and
went on our way rejoicing, tarrying not in those coasts, however,
since we perceived that this people were joined to their idols, and
given up to sin. We said unto our persecutors, in the words of the
apostle, " The Lord reward thee according to thy works."

Verily, the Lord hatli heard the cry of his servants, and hath not
forgotten their stripes. My heart was hushed with holy awe when I
read in your letter that the son of this man, who caused us to be
scourged, had suffered a like chastisement at the hands of wicked
men — perhaps the very hands by which we were smitten aforetime.
Through all these years the God of Sabaoth hath not forgotten our
cry, nor to reward the evil-doers according to their works." Well
may we exclaim, as we look back at these intervening years of won
der-working events, " What hath God wrought! " As the war went
on, and I saw the bulwarks of slavery crumbling away, until finally
the light of freedom shone upon the slave, I rejoiced at the wonder
ful power of God, who wrought out the ends of his glory through
the instrumentality of human passion and human greed. How it
reproached our weak murmurings and want of faith! Who could
have believed that all the evils which slavery was for so many years
piling up as a sin-offering in mockery of the Most High and his
mandates, — the blood, the tears, the groans, and woes of God's
•tricken and crying people, — were so soon to become the forces

FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. 183

which should destroy the oppressor, root and branch! Ah! if that
grand old St. John of this new dispensation of liberty — John Brown
— could have foreseen this in the hour of his ignominious death!
But perhaps he did see it, and the sting of death was removed by the
beatific vision.

Nothing of it all, however, has so humbled and terrified me as
this immediate and fearful retribution visited on one of my persecu
tors. God knows I had never entertained feelings of malice or
revenge towards them. I have never forgotten to pray for these, my
enemies, as we are commanded to do in the canon of Holy Scrip
ture; but I had never thought to see the band of God thus visibly
stretched forth to avenge my wrongs. The very thought has
humbled me more than I can express, and I have been moved to
ask myself whether this occasion does open to me a way of duty
which is in strictest harmony with the dictates of our holy religion.
The young man who has suffered for his father's sin, and of whom
you speak so highly, you say desires to escape from what he con
siders his shame, though it ought to be deemed his glory. Why not
let him come hither, my friend, — for as such I can not but esteem
you henceforth, — and let me thank the good Father by succoring
the son of him who persecuted me ? Gladly, humbly, will I perform
this duty as an act of praise and thanksgiving to Him who ruleth
and over-ruleth all things to his glory. Faithfully, as He was faith
ful to me, would I perform such trust, tenderly and humbly, so that
the young man should never know whose hand was extended to do
him kindness. Please to consider this suggestion, and, if it accord
with your views, send him to me, assured that I will intermit no
effort in his behalf.

I am in truth,

Thy servant and brother in the Lord,

THEOPHILUS JONES.

The Fool knew that the fanatic was in serious earnest, and
that, despite his ready assumption of the divine act as having
been performed in his individual behalf, there was a sort of
chivalric devotion to what he deemed duty and religion, which
would make him untiring in the performance of his self-im
posed trust. So the castigated son of the old squire went to
the free West to begin life anew under the protection and
patronage of the man whose back was striped at his father's
instigation, in the good old days " befo' the wah."

184 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XXX.

A THRICE-TOLD TALE.

THE newspapers told it first.
The Dunboro' Herald of May 17, 18—, said, —
" The good people of Rockford County met in convention
at the court-house to-day, to nominate candidates for county
offices, and to discuss the political situation. Since the military
usurpation took away from the people the right of self-govern
ment, and made them subservient to the will of the degraded
Radical niggers, and the infamous scalawags and Carpet-bag
gers who unite with and lead them, the honest people of Rock-
ford have had no voice in her government. They have now
concluded that the time has come when they will make one
more effort to control their own affairs. They met to-day as
one man, and listened to the burning words of such soul-stirring
orators as General De Bang, Honorable John Snortout, and
Colonel Whiteheat, until it was evident, from their wild enthu
siasm, that the white people of Rockford intend to rule her
affairs again. There was a rumor, just as our informant left,
of some trouble or difficulty in connection with John Walters,
the notorious Rockford Radical. We did not learn what it
was, and do not care. The worst thing that could occur to
him would be the best thing for the rest of the county."

The Moccason Gap Rattler (published the next day) said, —
"We learn, that, after the meeting at Rockford Court-House
yesterday, there was considerable excitement among the colored
population over the disappearance of their great leader, the in
famous Walters. Jt seems that he had the cheek to attend the
meeting, and sat taking notes of the speeches during the whole
time. His presence caused considerable remark ; for, although

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 185

it was a public meeting, it was not supposed that he would
have the impudence to show himself among decent white people,
after joining the niggers to insult, oppress, and degrade them.
It is said that the speakers, especially the Honorable John
Snortout, alluded to him in terms which he richly deserves.
It became noised through the meeting that he was taking notes
of the speeches for the purpose of having troops sent to Rock-
ford. It is even said that inquiry was made of him a,s to his
object in taking notes ; to which he impudently responded that
his purpose was known to himself, which was quite sufficient.
After the meeting adjourned, it seems he could not be found ;
and a great outcry was raised among the niggers on account of
his disappearance. Search was immediately instituted ; and
all the niggers of the town, as well as hundreds from the
adjoining country, came pouring in, surrounding the court
house, and clamoring for the keys. They were very much
excited, and did not hesitate to declare that their leader had
been murdered by the gentlemen at the meeting. This infa
mous charge against some four or five hundred of the best men
of Rockford was borne with exemplary patience by that law-
abiding people. The meeting quietly dispersed, and the
niggers continued their search. It is believed that Walters
has taken himself off at this time for the purpose of producing
an impression that he has been murdered, and thereby having
troops sent to that county to influence the coming election.
No trace of him had been found at last accounts."

The Rin<jfield Swashbuckler (two days afterwards) said, —
"The niggers of Rockford are in tribulation, but the white
people of the good old county will sleep easier. It appears,
that, after the adjournment of the mass meeting held by the
good people of that county at the court-house on the 17th inst.,
Walters, the infamous scalawag leader of the nigger Radicals,
who have ruled the county since the military usurpation, could
not be found. He was supposed to have been in attendance on
the meeting as a spy upon its action ; but several of the most
respectable citizens say that he left a considerable time before
its close. At once, upon its becoming known that he was miss-

186 A FOOTS S ERRAND.

ing, there was great excitement among the niggers; and when,
towards morning, his body was found in one of the offices upon
the lower floor of the court-house, there was great apprehension
for a time that the town would be burned by the infuriated
blacks. The manner of his death is a mystery. It is generally
believed that some of the leading negroes, who have for some
time been growing restive under his dictatorship, waylaid him
as he came down from the meeting, killed him, put his body in
this room, and then raised an alarm over his disappearance,
hoping thereby at once to get rid of a troublesome leader, and
produce the impression that he was murdered by his opponents,
and for political effect. Of course such a claim is too ridiculous
to be entertained for a moment. We learn that an inquest was
held, but nothing was elicited to cast any light upon the
mystery. ' '

The Verdenton Gazette, in its next issue, remarked, —
" The death of that infamous Radical, Walters of Rockford
County, is making a great excitement. The Radicals pretend
to believe that he was killed by the Democrats, who had been
holding a nominating convention in the court-house that
afternoon. It is far more probable, indeed some circumstances
which have since come to light, render it almost certain, that
his death was procured by certain of his Radical associates.
The Carpet-baggers and scalawags who run that party are fully
aware of the fate which awaits them on election-day, unless
something can be done to fire the negro heart, and bring troops
into the State. It is therefore generally believed that this kill
ing of Walters was a cold-blooded assassination planned by
the Radicals at the Capital, and executed by their minions.
It is even asserted that Morton was heard to declare, not many
days ago, that we would 'hear h — 11 from the South in less
than a week.' In addition to this, it is said that a very
reputable man, residing in the western part of that county,
declares that he saw Colonel Tom Kelly, the chairman of the
Radical committee for this district, driving rapidly away from
Rockford very soon after four o'clock on that evening, — about
the time the murder must have been committed. Perhaps Mr.

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 187

Tom Kelly will now rise and explain what he was doing in
Rockford at that time."

The Central Keynote (published a week afterwards) said, —
" Whether the Radical bummer Walters was killed by some
of his nigger understrappers, by some of his Carpet-bag scala
wag associates who were jealous of his power, by his own
relatives, or by some paramour of his wife who was anxious that
she should obtain the large amount of insurance which he
had upon his life, we do not know. But one thing we do
know, that the State is well rid of a miserable, unprincipled
Radical and infamous scoundrel, who ought to have been a
Carpet-bagger, but, we are sorry to admit, was a native. We
sincerely trust that the State at large may share the good
fortune of the county of Rockford very soon, and be equally
well rid of his Radical associates."

The National Trumpet, which was the Radical organ for
the State, very naturally gave a different version of the affair,
denounced it as a most outrageous political murder, and in
veighed most bitterly against what it termed the inhuman
barbarity of the opposition journals, which, not content with
the death of Walters, sought to slay his good name by slan
derous imputation, and to blast the reputation of the stricken
widow with baseless hints of complicity in his death. It pro
nounced him "a faithful husband, a tender father, and a
stanch friend, — one who from obscure parentage had raised
himself through poverty and ignorance to competence; had
aided orphan brothers and sisters, supported a widowed
mother, and maintained a good Christian character until
expelled from his church on account of his political opinions.
His courage and organizing ability were unquestioned, and
under his lead it was well known that nothing could prevent
the County of Rockford from continuing to give overwhelming
Radical majorities. John Walters was guilty of this offence,
no more! And for this he was killed! He gave up his life
for the rights of the people — the right of equal n.'uuhood-
suffrage — as clearly as any soldier who fell upon th;- battle
field died for liberty ! The time will come when his name

188 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

will be remembered by a grateful people as that of a martyr
of their freedom."

So the act passed into current history; and the great journals
of the North recorded with much minuteness, and with appro
priate head-lines and display, the fact that John Walters, a
man of infamous character, and a prominent politician, and
leader of the negroes in Rockford County, was killed by
stabbing and strangling. By whom the crime was committed
was by no means clear, they said, nor yet the motive ; but
one thing seemed to be well established, — that it was not
done from any political incentive whatever. It was true he
was a leading Radical politician in a county having a decided
colored majority, which was made effective almost solely by
his organizing power; but it was certain that only personal
feeling of some sort or another was at the bottom of this
murder.

Thus it first came to the Fool's ears. He had known the
man, not intimately, but well, having seen him often since
their meeting at the League, and had grown into a sincere regard
for him. He knew of his energy and daring, knew of his own
premonitions as to his fate, and the coolness with which he
had prepared himself to meet it. But the Fool had only half
believed that it would come, — at least not so soon or suddenly,
nor in a form so horrible, nor with such ghastly accompani
ment of post mortem barbarity. It was strange how unreason
ing he was in his sorrowful anger. He would not hear a word
as to any other hypothesis of his friend's death, except that it
was a political murder, coolly planned, and executed with the
assent of the entire meeting of respectable men who were
passing patriotic resolutions above the scene of its perpetration.
It was very unreasonable, but perhaps not unnatural, that he
should do so.

II.

Upon the second day after this unfortunate occurrence, there
came to the Fool's house one who had been an eye-and-ear
witness of all that had occurred in Rockford on that occasion.

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 189

except the tragic act which has been once already narrated.
This man said, —

" I was with John Walters when he went to the meeting, and
went up and sat with him for a short time. I had tried to
dissuade him from going there at all. There had been a good
deal of excitement in the county for some time. The Ku-Klux
had been riding about, and his life had been threatened a
good many times. Only a few days before, a crowd of them
had come, and, after riding about the town, had left at his
house a coffin, with a notice stuck on to it with a knife. He
knew he was in great danger, and told me repeatedly that he
thought they would get him before it was over. On this day
he was heavily armed, and very foolishly carried with him a
considerable sum of money, which he had received the day
before, and intended to bring here and put in bank the next
day. He had been very careful about showing himself upon
the street for some time, especially after dark. I don't
suppose he had been out after sundown in six months. He
said that it was necessary for him to go to this meeting for
two reasons, — first, to let them know that he was not afraid
to do so; and, second, that he might know what course the
opposition intended to pursue in the coming campaign.

" There was a very full attendance at the meeting, and when
Walters came in there were a heap of sour looks cast at him.
He sat down, took out his book, and began taking notes. The
speakers turned on him the worst abuse you ever heard, Colo
nel; but he just smiled that quiet, scornful smile of his, and
went on taking his notes as if no one was near him. By and
by it got so hot that I thought we had better get out of there.
I told him so in a whisper: but he just looked up, and said I
could go ; he should stay till it was over. He wanted to see
some parties there who had made some proposition to him
about a compromise-ticket for county officers. He was greatly
in favor of this; for, although we had a large majority in the
county, we had really only one or two candidates competent
to fill the county offices. It was by his advice, that, at the
election before, our folks had supported the Democratic candi-

190 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

date for sheriff and other county-officers. He said it would
never do to put ignorant and incompetent men in such places,
lie was greatly troubled about his own lack of education, and
studied hard to make it up. I've often heard him mourn his
lack of early advantages. I think it was the only thing that
used to make him right-down mad. He used to say that was
what every poor man owed to slavery ; and he appeared to
think that institution had done him as much harm, and he had
as good a right to hate it, as if he had been a nigger. He
could read prett}7 peart, but writing always come hard to him.

" I heard him one time talking about his little gal, who was
just beginning to learn to read. He said he was determined
she should have what he missed because he happened to be
a poor man's son in a slave country ; and that was an educa
tion. Oh ! he was very bitter in his denunciation of the slave-
holding aristocracy, and would persist in declaring that they
had starved the souls of the poor people, and kept them from
the tree of knowledge, just to promote their own selfish aims,
and enhance their own wealth. It's the only thing I've ever
heard John 'Walters grow eloquent upon (you know he was
a man of few words) ; but I've heard him sometimes on the
stump when he seemed to get out of himself, and be another
man, in the wild eloquence with which he urged the need of
education, and deplored the manner in which he had been
robbed of its privileges and advantages. I remember he said
once, that he never asked grace before meat at his own table,
nor conducted family worship in his own house, as he did every
day, without feeling ashamed of the ignorance which hung
like a millstone about his neck. He thought that even his
little eight-year-old must be ashamed of her papa's blunders.

" I thought of all these things while the speakers were abus
ing him, and the people were turning towards him with black
looks and threatening gestures, and wondered what would come
of it all. When it got too hot for me, I left, and went back to
his house. His wife was taking on terribly. She is not a
very strong woman, but she thought a heap of John. She
asked me all about what he was doing at the meeting, and

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 191

then took on worse than ever. She pointed to their two
children who were playing on the lawn back of the house,
and said, 'Poor things, poor things! They'll be fatherless
and alone pretty soon. Why won't John quit this foolish
fight for what will do him no good, get away from here, and
go West, where he and his children can have " a white man's
chance"? Why won't he listen to meV She kept on crying
and mourning, and begged me to speak to John about it if he
ever came home.

"I tried to comfort her; and we sat by the door, the little
children playing on the green slope before us, until the meet
ing was over, and the people began to pass by on their way
homeward. I noticed that Mrs. Walters seemed very restless,
and every now and then looked anxiously over toward the
court-house. Finally she called to some colored men who
were passing, and asked if the meeting was over. They told
her it was ; and she then asked if they had seen her husband
since it closed; and, when they said they had not, she threw
up her hands, and moaned, and cried, ' They've killed him !
They've killed him! I knew it! Oh, my God!' and just
kept taking on terribly.

" I went over into the town at once, and began to make in
quiries. None of our friends had seen him; but, as soon as
they found I was inquiring for him, several of the white peo
ple kindly volunteered information in regard to him. This
one had seen him in this place, and another in that, and an
other remembered hearing a third man speak of having seen
him in still a different direction ; and all about the same time.
This disagreement of the reports which were made, as well as
the fact that none of the colored people had seen him (though
there were many more of them, and each felt a peculiar in
terest in him, so that they would be more likely to notice and
remark his presence than the others), strengthened a dim
suspicion that had been growing in the minds of all ; so that,
instead of waiting to go to the points indicated to ascertain
their truth, the report went out at once that he was missing —
had been killed.

192 A FOODS ERRAND.

"I never knew before what a hold he had on the colored
people. Every one seemed as distressed as if he had lost a
brother. Men, women, and children crowded into the streets.
Moans and imprecations were about equally mingled in the
surging crowds who hurried toward the court-house. From
the first moment there was no question as to his death. It
was assumed as a fact; and the conclusion was at once arrived
at, that his body was concealed somewhere about the court
house. Strangely enough the fragments of the crowd who
had been in attendance on the meeting gathered quietly about
one or two of the stores, talked with each other in low tones,
offered neither remonstrance, aid, nor ridicule of the search
that was going on, and finally broke away by twos and threes,
silently and solemnly to their homes. Every moment the
excitement grew more intense among the colored people. In
an incredibly brief time the crowd had swelled from a couple
of dozen to as many hundred; and, in an hour or two, more
than a thousand were gathered. The white people of the
town looked on gloomily and silently, but took no part in the
search. The court-house was at once surrounded, and every
room examined into which access could be obtained ; for the
keys of some of them were said to have been lost, and one
especially, it was claimed, had not been opened for many
months. All trace of the key of this room seemed to have
been lost by the officials in whose custody the law presumed it
to have been. Then some of the white people came with very
positive reports that Walters had been seen going out of town
towards Dunboro', where it was known that he intended to go
on the morrow. Several of the leading citizens came out at
this time, and endeavored to convince the colored people of
the folly of their course. The Honorable John Snortout was
especially active in this endeavor. They might as well have
talked to the wind. The colored people clung to their hy
pothesis with a sort of blind instinctive conviction of its truth,
which nothing could move. As it came on dark, fires were
lighted, and a regular line of sentries put around the building.
Meantime attempts were made to get a glimpse of the interior

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 193

of the rooms of which they could obtain no keys, by peering
through the closed windows. Clambering from one window-
ledge to another, they flashed the light of blazing torches into
them, but in vain. Nothing could be seen.

" And so the night dragged on, and the crowd grew hourly
greater with accessions from the country, and the conviction
grew stronger that in one of these rooms they would find the
nameless horror which they sought, and which they yet would
not behold.

" Yet this half-barbarous crowd were strangely regardful of
law.. They did not violate anybody's right. Neither locks
nor windows were broken. They sought the keys far and near,
but they did no violence. They were sure their lost leader
was within — dying or dead, they knew not which. They called
him by name, but knew he could not answer. None slept of
the colored people: they waited, watched, and mourned.

" Just in the gray of the morning light, one of those who had
been most active and assiduous in the search mounted on the
shoulders of a friend, and peered into the window of the most
suspected room on the first floor. Shading his eyes with his
hand, he scanned the dim-lighted interior, and was about to
give up the quest, when his eye fell upon something mysterious
and appalling. On the inside of the window-ledge he saw —
a single drop of blood ! Another look, and he saw, or thought
he saw, the well-known hat which their leader had been wont
to wear.

"'Here he is — in there! ' he shouted, as he leaped down,
and started for the corridor. They had no longer any need of
key. The door flew apart as if made of pasteboard, before
the brawny shoulders that pressed against it. In that room
they found their worst fears confirmed. There, pressed down
into a box, with a pile of firewood heaped upon him, a stab in
his throat, and a hard cord drawn taut about his neck, stark
and cold, was the body of John Walters — the Radical !
There was very little blood in the room, only a few drops on
the floor, and one drop on the window-sill ! The stab in his
throat had cut the artery. Where was the blood ? The phy-

194 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

sician who examined the body said he must have bled inter
nally."

From the foregoing narrative it was evident to the Fool that
between three and five o'clock of the day before, while the
meeting of respectable white citizens was in progress in the
room above, John Walters had either been killed in that room,
or murdered elsewhere, and brought thither. The manner of
his death was evident. The motive was not doubtful, since,
strangely enough, this " bad man" seems to have had no per
sonal enemies. In some mysterious manner the universal sen
timent of execration that prevailed against him in the commu
nity had found an instrument ; and John Walters, the Radical
leader of Rockford, had met the doom which he might reasona
bly have expected when he presumed to organize the colored
voters of that county in opposition to the wish and desire of
its white inhabitants.

The coroner's jury, after a tedious examination of every
person that could be found who would be likely, on ordinary
principles, to know nothing whatever of the matter, returned
that the death was " caused by some person or persons un
known ; " which verdict was, no doubt, in strict conformity
with the evidence taken.

III.

" Kunnel, dar's a man h'yer dat wants ter tell you sumfin'.
He says he won't tell nobody else but you, widout your positive
orders."

The speaker was old Jerry. He stood at the door of the
Fool's library or office, and had with him a colored man, whom
he introduced as Nat Haskell. This man had one of those
expressionless faces, which, however, bear a look of furtive
observation, so characteristic of the colored man who has been
reared under the influences of slavery.

" Well," said Comfort, "what is it? "

" Didn't you know Mars' John Walter ? " asked the coloreo
man cautiously.

" Yes, certainly ! " answered Comfort.

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 195

" An' ain't you de gemman as come an' tried ter find out
who 'twas dat killed him V "

"Yes."

" Wai, den, you's de one I want ter see, an dat's what I want
ter see ye about."

" Why, what do you know about that ? "

"Idon't&wow nothin' ; but I done heard somefin' that may
lead you to fine out who 'tis. Dat's what I come fer."

'" Where do you live V "

" I lives wid ole man Billy Barksdill, 'bout five miles below
Rockford Court-House ; that is, I did live dar. I hain't no
notion o' goiii' back dar any mo'."

" Were you in Rockford that day ? "

" No, sah ! "

"Then how do you come to know any thing about the
matter ? "

" Wai, yer see, Kunnel, I was wukkin' fer Mr. Barksdill, ez
I tole ye; an' dat night, jest arter I come in from de fiel', he
called me ter come an' take care of a hoss. I know'd dat hoss
right well. 'Twas a gray filly dat Mars' Marcus Thompson
hed rid by our place dat mornin'. Arter I'd put the critter
away, an' fed it, I went inter de kitchen ter git my supper.
I sot down ter de table ; an' de cook — dat's Mariar, my ole
'ooman — she brings me my supper, an' den goes back inter de
dinin'-room ter wash up de dishes de white folks hed been
usin'. Presen'ly she come back mighty still like, an' says,
' Nat,, come h'yer, quick ! ' An' wid dat she starts back agin.

" ' Sh — ! take off yer shoes,' she says, half whisperin', ez we
git ter de dinin'-room do'.

" I slips outer my shoes, an' we goes in. Der wa'n't no light
in de room ; but she led me a-till we come nigh de do' a-twixt
de dinin'-room an' de settin'-roorn. Dar we stopped an' lis
tened, an' I could hear Mr. Barksdill an' Mr. Marcus Thomp
son talkin' togeder mighty plain. Cynthy Rouse — dat's
anudder servant-gal — she was dar too, a-crouchin' down by de
do', dat wasn't shet close; but dar wa'n't no light in de settin'-
room, but de fire. When I come, Cynthy puts her hand on her

196 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

lips, shakes her head, an' says, <H'sh ! ' an' put her head down
to listen agin. The fust words / heard was ole Mr. Barksdill,
— he's sorter half-def, yer knows, — a-sayin', right peart, —

" ' It must a' been a good day's work, in fact, if we've got rid
o' John Walters finally. How was it done? I did hear der
was some notion o' sendin' a committee from de meetin' ter tell
him he must leave; but I hadn't no notion he'd du it. He's
pluck to de back-bone, John Walters is. Whatever else he
may be, we must allow, Thompson, dat he ain't nobody's fool
nor coward; an' I 'llowed, dat, ef de meetin' should do dat,
jest ez likely 's not some o' dat committee mout git hurt. Ye
didn't try dat, I reckon ? '

"'No,' answered Mars' Thompson, 'we didn't hev no need
ter du dat. De brazen-faced cuss hed the impudence ter come
ter the meetin' hisself ! '

'"Bar now, you don't tell me!' sed old man Barksdill.
' Wai, now, what was I sayin' ? — he's pluck.'

" ' Yes ; and he sot dar as cool as a cucumber, a-takin' notes
ob all dat went on,' says Mr. Thompson.

" ' You don't! Wai, I declar ! ' sez the ole man.

" ' Yes : de damned fool hadn't a bit more sense dan to show
his head dar, when we'd met most a-purpose to fine a way to
get rid of him. He mout 'a' knowed wThat would come on't.'

" * Wai, what did ? I s'pose de people was pretty hot, an'
perhaps dar was smart of a row.'

" * Not a bit, Mr. Barksdill ! Jest de quietest affair you ever
heard on. De fac' is, some one on us hed made an appintment
wid Walters, ter see him' bout what we called a fusion ticket
we purtended ez we wanted ter git up. So some on' em signi
fied to him dat we wanted ter see him, an' we got him down
inter the old County Clerk's office, an' shet de do'. Dar was
ten on us, an' he seed de game we was up to in a second ; but
he didn't even wince.

111 "Well, gentlemen," sez he, ez cool ez if he'd been settin'
over on his own porch, which we could see ez plain ez day
from de winder, "what d'ye want o' me? Der seems tu be
enough on ye ter du ez you've a mine ter : so I mout ez well ask
yer will an' pleasure." '

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 197

"'Law sakes ! ' sez de ole man; 'but dat wuz monstrous
cool.'

'"Cool? I should tink it was, ez cool es hell,' sez t'oder one.
4 Den some on 'em took out a paper dat hed been drawed up
aforehand fer him ter sign, an' handed it over tu him. He
read it over kinder slow like, an', when he got f rough, handed
it back, an' sed, " I can't sign dat paper, gentlemen." '
. " ' What was de paper? '

" ' Noffin, only jest a statement dat he, as leader ob de Radi
cal party in dis county, hed been de gitter-up ob all de devil
ment done here in de last two or free years, includin' de
burnin' o' Hunt's barn ; an' dat he done dese tings under de
direction ob de Radical leaders at de capital. We tole him,
ef he'd sign dis, an' agree tu leab de State in ten days, we'd
let him off safe an' sound.'

" ' An' he wouldn't do it? ' bust in de ole man.

"'Do it V Hell ! He sed we mout kill him, but we couldn't
make him sign no sech paper ez dat. Dat made de boys mad.
You know, we didn't want ter kill him, dough we hed no notion
ob backin' out after goin' dat far: in fac', we couldn't.'

" ' No mo' you couldn't, I should say,' put in Mars' Barks-
dill.

"'Ob course not! an' I fought fer a minit de boys would
jest hack an' tear him to pieces, dey was so mad. I tried ter
pacify 'em, an' persuade him to sign de paper, an' not force us
to sech extremes ; but he wouldn't hear tu me, an' fust I
know'd, he hed jumped back an' pulled out a pistol. De low-
down, ornary cuss! Ef it hadn't been fer Buck Hoyt, who
caught his arm, an' Jim Bradshaw, dat whipped a slip-noose
over his neck, an* pulled him back, der's no knowin' what he
might 'a' done wid dat ten-shooter o' his.'

" ' He's a nasty hand wid shootin'-irons,' sed the ole man.

"'Wai,' says Thompson, 'dey got him down, an' frottled
him, an' tuk de pistol away from him, an' every ting he had in
the weepon line. Den dey let him up, an' all agreed dat sech
a pestiferous, lyin', deceitful cuss ought ter be killed. We told
him so, an' dat he could hev jest five minutes ter git ready in.

198 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

He didn't never flinch, but jest sed, "I s'pose I ken be allowed
ter pray." An', widont waitin' fer an answer, he jes' kneeled
down, an' prayed fer all his frien's an' neighbors, an' fer each
one ob us too. Dis prayin' fer us wuz gittin' a little tu damn
pussonal : so Jim Bradshaw, dat held de cord, gin it a j.erk, an'
tole him we didn't want no more o' dat. Den he got up, an'
I axed him ef der wuz any ting else he wanted ter do or say
afore he died. You see, I fought he might like ter make some
'rangement 'bout his property or his family, an' I wanted to
gib him a white man's chance.'

" ' Ob co'se, ob co'se,' said Mars' Barksdill, ' an' very proper
an' considerate of ye, tu.'

"M fought so, certain,' said Thompson. 'Wai, he axed us
to let him look out o' de winder, at his childern playin' on de
slope o' de hill over by his house. Dar was some o' de boys
didn't want to do dat, but I persuaded 'em to let him. His
hands was tied, an' de cord was 'roun' his neck, so't he couldn't
git away nohow. De lower sash hed been raised; but we had
some two or three fellows standin' outside anyhow. So we
led him to de winder, an' he looked at his two gals a smart
while. I declar" it come hard to see de tears a-standin' in his
eyes, an' know what was waitin' fer him; but it couldn't be
helped den. An', jest while I was tinkin' ub dis, he made
a spring, and, wid all dat agin him, managed to git his left
leg ober de winder-sill, an' I'm not at all sure't he wouldn't
'a' wriggled, hisself out entirely, ef Jack Cannon hadn't 'a'
gathered a stick of wood, an' dropped it over his leg till it
straightened out ez limp ez a rag. We pulled him back in,
an' frew him on de long table dat"s in de room. He jest give
one groan when he seed all was over. It was de fust an' last.
Der wasn't no use tryin' ter hold de boys back no longer.
Jim Brad he drew de cord till it fairly cut inter de flesh. Den
dey turned him half over, all on us holdin' his arms an' legs,
an' Jack Cannon stuck a knife inter his throat.1 He bled

1 This account of an incredible barbarity is based on the sworn statement of
a colored person who overheard just such aii account, given of just such a per
formance, by one of the actors in it. It is loo horrid to print, but too true to
omit.

A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 199

like a hog ; but we caught de blood in a bucket, an' arterwards
let it down out o' de winder in a bag to de fellers outside;
so't der wa'n't a drop o' blood, nor any mark ub the squabble,
in de room. We stowed him away in de wood-box, an', arter
it comes on good an' dark, de boys are goin' to take him ober,
an' stow him away under dat damned nigger schoolhouse o'
his; an' den you see we'll claim de niggers done it, an' perhaps
hev some on 'em up, an' try 'em for it.'

" ' Good Lord ! ' sed ole man Barksdill arter a minit. ' So
he's dead ! '

" ' Dead ! ' said Thompson wid a queer laugh. ' You may
count on dat, — ez dead ez Julius Caesar ! De county's well
rid o' de wust man dat was ebber in it.'

" ' Yes, yes ! ' said de ole man, ' a bad fellow, no doubt,
mighty bad; dough I dunno ez he ever done any ting so very
bad, except hold political meetin's wid de niggers, an' put all
sorts o' crazy notions in der heads, makin' 'em lazy, an' no
'count, an' impudent to white folks.'

" ' An' ain't dat 'nough ? ' said Thompson.

"<Oh, ob co'se !' Mars' Barksdill said: 'dat's mighty bad,
— but arter all ' —

" ' Well, what ? ' said Mars' Thompson, kinder hot like.

" ' Oh, well, noffin' ! — dat is, noffin' to speak of. I was no
friend o' John Walters ; but I would 'a' felt better ef he'd been
killed in a fa'r fight, an' not shut up like a wolf in a trap, an'
killed in — in ' —

"'In cold blood, I s'pose you mean,' put in Thompson
quick and husky ; fer he was a-gittin' mad.

" ' Wai, yes, it does look so,' said ole Mars', kinder 'pologizin'
like.

" ' Ob co'se,' said Thompson, ' it'll do fer you ter set dar an'
fine fault wid what's done. Here de whole county's been
wishin' somebody would rid 'em ub John Walters fer two
years an' mo'. Everybody's been a-cussin' an' bilin', an' teliin'
what ought ter be done ; an', now dat some on us hez hed the
pluck ter go in an' du the very ting ye've all been talkin' on,
ye stan' back, an' draw on an affidavy face, an' say yer sorry

200 A FOOUS ERRAND.

it's done. It's damned encouragin' to dem dat takes de risk !
Perhaps de next fing you do'll be tu go an' tell on us. '

" De ole man wouldn't stan' dat. We heard him rise up, an'
say, mighty grand like, —

" ' Mr. Thompson ! '

"Jest then, Cynthy, who's a mighty excitable gal, an',
besides dat, used ter live with Mrs. Walters, an' so knew de
one dey'd been talkin' on right well, bust out a-sobbin' an'
a-moanin', an' we lied to hold a hand over her mouf, an' half
tote her out ob de room ez fast ez we could. I heard Mars'
Thompson say, ' Who's in dar ? ' An' den Mars' Barksdill he
lights de can'le, an' conies an' opens de dinin'-room do'; but,
Lor' bress ye ! der wan't nobody in dar — nobody at all."

u What did you do then V "

"Nuffin' at all. Jest waited, an' kep' still. Cynthy an'
'Riar an' me we talks it over a little, an' concluded ez we'd
better not let on dat we knowed any fing about it. So when
Bob Watson come over some time 'fore mornin', an' whistled
me out, an' tole me dat Mars' Walters was a-missin', an' dat
eberybody ob de colored folks was a-huntin' for him, an' de
whole town jest alive an' a-light all night, I didn't say noffin',
only, arter a while I turns to Bob an' I says, says I, —

" 'Bob, dey won't never fine him.' An' he sez, sez he, ' Dat's
my notion too.' So we passed de time o' day, an' he went
home, an' I turned in ter sleep agin."

" Have you ever told any one else of this ? " asked the Fool.

" Nary one," was the reply. " A few days arterwards, ole
man Barksdill he questioned me some, an' arter dat de gals
telled me dat he axed dem some questions 'bout what we
know'd or hed heard 'bout Mr. Walters. But he didn't git no
satisfaction outer me, dat's shore, an' I don't reckon he did out
ob de gals. Howsomever, 'twan't long afore he an' his boys
begun ter talk right smart 'bout what would happen ter any
nigger ez should testify agin any white man ez havin' any fing
to do along o' Mr. Walters. An' finally Mr. Barksdill he tole
me — an' I found dat he tole de wimmen too — dat any nigger
dat knowed any fing 'bout dat matter would be a heap more

THE FOLLY OF WISDOM. 201

likely to die ob ole age ef he lived in anudder State. Dis
scart de gals nigh about to deaff, an' I 'llowed dar was a heap
o' sense in it myself. So we lit out ; an' I never hinted a word
about it afore, only to Uncle Jerry h'yer, an' he brought me to
you, sah."

Upon further investigation, Servosse learned several facts
strongly confirmatory of this strange story, the details of which
harmonized with wonderful accuracy with all the known facts
of the bloody deed. The men named as the associates of
Thompson, it appeared, were all present at the meeting. Some
of them had before been suspected of complicity in the act;
while others had not been thought of in connection with it.
They were all of good families, and of undoubted respectabil
ity. The two women, being separately examined, confirmed,
with only such variation as rendered their accounts still more
convincing, the story which has been given.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE FOLLY OF WISDOM.

UNCLE JERRY was much excited by the narrative which he
had heard. For a long time the outrages which had been per
petrated upon his race and their friends, the daily tale of suffer
ing and horror which came to his ears, had been working on
his excitable temperament, until it needed only the horrible re
cital which Nat had given, to destroy entirely his self-control.
During its repetition he had uttered numerous ejaculations
expressive of his excitement; and, when he went away with his
friend, he was in a sort of semi-unconscious state, his wide-open
eyes full of a strange light, and muttering brokenly as he went
along the road to his own house, short ejaculatory remarks.

" Lor' God ob Isr'el 1 " " Lor', Lor', whar is yer gone ? "
*' Don't ye h'yer de cry ob de pore no mo'?" "Whar is de
'venger ob blood ? "

202 A FOOrS ERRAND.

These and many similar expressions fell from his lips as he
wandered about his garden and lot that evening. To Nat, who
had returned with him, and was his guest, he said but little :
he seemed absorbed in dreamy thought. Even before this
time, Uncle Jerry had been noted for his openly-expressed
defiance of the Ku-Klux, his boldness in denouncing them, and
the persistency with which he urged the colored men of his
vicinity to organize, and resist the aggressions of that body.
In this he had been partially successful. A considerable num
ber of the. inhabitants of the colored suburb had armed them
selves, had appointed a leader and lieutenants, and agreed upon
signals, on hearing which all were to rally for defense at cer
tain designated points. He had infused into his duller-minded
associates the firm conviction which possessed himself, — that
it was better to die in resisting such oppression than to live
under it. He had an idea that his race must, in a sense,
achieve its own liberty, establish its own manhood, by a stub
born resistance to aggression, — an idea which it is altogether
probable would have been the correct and proper one, had not
the odds of ignorance and prejudice been so decidedly against
them.

As matters stood, however, it was the sheerest folly. When
experience, wealth, and intelligence combine against ignorance,
poverty, and inexperience, resistance is useless. Then the
appeal to arms may be heroic ; but it is the heroism of folly,
the faith — or hope, rather — of the fool.

Nevertheless, chiefly through Uncle Jerry's persuasions, and
because of his prominence and acknowledged leadership, this
spirit had gone out among the colored men of the county; and
a determination to resist and retaliate such outrages had be
come general among them. The first effect of this determined
stand upon their part seemed to have been to prevent the repe
tition of these offenses. For several weeks no one had been
beaten or scourged in that county, and the impression seemed
to gain ground that there would be no more. This was espe
cially strong after two full moons had passed without disturb
ance, since it was at those seasons that the disguised horsemen

THE FOLLY OF WISDOM. 203

were particularly active. This fact had tended strongly to
confirm old Jerry in his theory of resistance, arid at the same
time had relaxed the vigilance of himself and his neighbors.
The night of the day on which he had listened to the recital
given by Nat was the time for the regular weekly prayer-meet
ing at the schoolhouse. Of course he attended ; and, as it
chanced, there were several white men also in attendance,—
strangers, it seemed, — who sat in the back part of the audi
ence, and seemed to be making light of the exercises. This
was an indignity which always aroused the strongest feeling
on the part of Uncle Jerry. To such he was accustomed to
say, with a sweet-voiced boldness, —

" We's allers glad ter hab de white folks come to our meet-
in's, an' allers tinks it may do us good, an' dem tu. It sartin
can't hurt nobody tu be prayed fer ; an' we prays for 'em, an'
hopes dey prays for us, an' hopes de good Lord'll bress us all.
But when white folks comes an' laughs at our weak praars, —
dat hurts. We knows we ain't larned, nor great, nor perfic;
but we tries to do our best. An' when you all laughs at us, we
can't help tinkin' dat we mout 'a' done better ef we hadn't
been kep' slaves all our lives by you uns."

Few could continue to mock after this reproof. On this
occasion, when the meeting had progressed for some time,
the conduct of the white visitors became very annoying. Two
or three times, it was noticed that Uncle Jerry raised his head,
and stretched forward his hands upon his staves, as if he would
speak ; but each time, upon second thought, it seemed, he
abandoned the idea. Finally it could be endured no longer ;
and he arose, and walked toward them, speaking in an unusu
ally harsh and aggrieved tone as he did so. When he came
within two or three steps of them, he took both staves in his
left hand, raised the right, with the finger pointing toward
them as steady as a rifle-barrel, and became at once rigid and
silent. At first the mockers attempted ridicule ; but the pale,
still face, and fixed, staring eyes, as well as the awe-stricken
hush of the colored portion of the congregation, soon reduced
them to silence. When at length his tongue was loosed, and

204 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

he poured forth one of his wonderful rhapsodies, a mortal
terror seemed to take hold upon his hearers, and they sat
listening to his burning words, while he told the story of the
Ku-Klux, and ended his horrible portraiture with a detailed
statement of the manner in which John Walters had been
killed, giving the names of those engaged, and the part taken
by each in the bloody deed. He painted as by magic the
scene of the murder, and gave the very tone and manner, of
each of those engaged in it, though he had never seen them.
Before the recital was ended, there was a shriek from one of
the white men, as he rose, and staggered toward the door.
Then the others followed after him, and silently left the house.

When the "spell" was over, and Uncle Jerry was lying
back, panting and moaning, in his seat, Nat came to him, and
broke out, — " Fo' God, Uncle Jerry, what ye mean ? '

" What's de matter, Brudder Nat ? What I done '? Hurt
your feelin', Brudder? Bress God, I hope not! "

" Hurt my feelin's ? No ! " said Nat. " You'se not likely to
do dat, Bre'r Jerry. But, Lor' bress us ! d'you kno' one o' dem
ar men waz nobody else but Jim Bradshaw ! "

" De Lord's will be done ! He's done use his pore sahvent
for his glory, wedder he will or no. Bress de Lor' ! " said
Uncle Jerry, with a look of resignation.

"Dat's all right, Bre'r Jerry; but I feel jes' ez ef I could
trust de Lor' a heap better ef I wuz 'cross de line, an' out o'
de State : so I bids you good-by, Uncle Jerry ! I'se gwine ter
cut outen h'yer, shore."

The news of this terrible revelation soon spread far and
wide among the colored people, and there was great apprehen
sion on account of it. Uncle Jerry alone did not seem to be
disturbed or alarmed. Since this last display of his strange
peculiarity, he seemed to have lost all apprehension, and all
feeling of annoyance or trouble, as to the future of himself or
his race.

•" De Lord's will be done," he said, with entire composure,
whenever the matter was mentioned to him. "He knows
what's best, an' he's made dis pore sahvent see dat he knows.

THE FOLLY OF WISDOM. 205

Bress his holy name ! He brings de good out ob evil, an'
ober-rules de bad. He's been wid de pore culled man in de
six troubles, an' he not gwine ter desart him in de sebenth!
Uncle Jerry'll jes' try an' wait on de Lor', so dat when he call
fer me, I jes' answers, ' H'yer, Lor'!' widdout waitin' ter ax
eny questions 'bout his business."

So the days went on until a week from the Saturday night
which followed his denunciation of the slayers of Walters at
the meeting, and there had been no disturbance. On that
night the little suburban village sank to its usual repose, after
the labors and cares which Saturday night imposes upon
people of low degree. The bacon and meal for the next week
had been purchased, the clothes for the morrow put in order,
and preparations made for that Sunday dinner which the
poorest colored family manages to make a little better than the
week-day meal. It was nearly twelve o'clock when all became
silent ; and the weary workers slept all the more soundly for
the six days' labor of the week which was past.

It was a chill, dreary night. A dry, harsh wind blew from
the north. The moon was at the full, and shone clear and
cold in the blue vault.

There was one shrill whistle, some noise of quietly-moving
horses; and those who looked from their windows saw a black-
gowned and grimly-masked horseman sitting upon a draped
horse at every corner of the streets, and before each house,
— grim, silent, threatening. Those who saw dared not move,
or give any alarm. Instinctively they knew that the enemy
they had feared had come, had them in his clutches, and would
work his will of them, whether they resisted or not. So, with
the instinct of self-preservation, all were silent — all simulated
sleep.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes the silent watch continued. A
half-hour passed, and there had been no sound. Each masked
sentry sat his horse as if horse and rider were only some magic
statuary with which the bleak night cheated the affrighted eye.
Then a whistle sounded on the road toward Verdenton. The
masked horsemen turned their horses' heads in that direction,

206 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

and slowly and silently moved away. Gathering in twos, they
fell into ranks with the regularity and ease of a practiced
soldiery, and, as they filed on towards Yerdenton, showed a
cavalcade of several hundred strong ; and upon one of the
foremost horses rode one with a strange figure lashed securely
to him.

When the few who were awake in the little village found
courage to inquire as to what the silent enemy had done, they
rushed from house to house with chattering teeth and trem
bling limbs, only to find that all were safe within, until they
came to the house where old Uncle Jerry Hunt had been
dwelling alone since the death of his wife six months before.
The door was open.

The house was empty. The straw mattress had been thrown
from the bed, and the hempen cord on which it rested had been
removed.

The sabbath-morrow was well advanced when the Fool was
first apprised of the raid. He at once rode into the town, ar
riving there just as the morning services closed, and met the
people coming along the streets to their homes. Upon the
limb of a low- branching oak not more than forty steps from
the Temple of Justice, hung the lifeless body of old Jerry.
The wind turned it slowly to and fro. The snowy hair and
beard contrasted strangely with the dusky pallor of the peace
ful face, which seemed even in death to proffer a benison to
the people of God who passed to and fro from the house of
prayer, unmindful both of the peace which lighted the dead
face, and of the rifled temple of the Holy Ghost which ap
pealed to them for sepulture. Over all pulsed the sacred
echo of the sabbath bells. The sun shone brightly. The
wind rustled the autumn leaves. A few idlers sat upon the
steps of the court-house, and gazed carelessly at the ghastly
burden on the oak. The brightly-dressed church-goers en
livened the streets. Not a colored man was to be seen. All
except the brown cadaver on the tree spoke of peace and
prayer — a holy day among a godly people, with whom rested
the benisou of peace.

THE FOLLY OF WISDOM. 207

The Fool asked of some trusty friends the story of the night
before. With trembling lips one told it to him,

" I heard the noise of horses — ojiiet and orderly, but many.
Looking from the window in the clear moonlight, I saw horse
men passing down the street, taking their stations here and
there, like guards who have been told off for duty, at specific
points. Two stopped before my house, two opposite Mr. Has-
kin's, and two or three upon the corner below. They seemed
to have been sent on before as a sort of picket-guard for the
main body, which soon came in. I should say there were from
a hundred to a hundred and fifty still in line. They were all
masked, and wore black robes. The horses were disguised, too,
by drapings. There were only a few mules in the whole
company. They were good horses, though: one could tell that
by their movements. Oh, it was a respectable crowd! No
doubt about that, sir. Beggars don't ride in this country.
I don't know when I have seen so many good horses together
since the Yankee cavalry left here after the surrender. They
were well drilled too. Plenty of old soldiers in that crowd.
Why, every thing went just like clock-work. Not a word was
said — just a few whistles given. They came like a dream,
and went away like a mist. I thought we should have to
fight for our lives; but they did not disturb any one here.
They gathered down by the court-house. I could not see
precisely what they were at, but, from my back upper window,
saw them down about the tree. After a while a signal was
given, and just at that time a match was struck, and I saw a
dark body swing down under the limb. I knew then they
had hung somebody, but had no idea who it was. To tell the
truth, I had a notion it was you, Colonel. I saw several citi
zens go out and speak to these men on the horses. There were
lights in some of the offices about the court-house, and in
several of the houses about town. Every thing was as still
as the grave, — no shouting or loud talking, and no excite
ment or stir about town. It was evident that a great many
of the citizens expected the movement, and were prepared to
co-operate with it by manifesting no curiosity, or otherwise

208 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

endangering its success. I am inclined to think a good many
from this town were in it. I never felt so powerless in my
life. Here the town was in the hands of two or three hundred
armed and disciplined men, hidden from the eye of the law,
and having friends and co-workers in almost every house, I
knew that resistance was useless."

" But why," asked the Fool, " has not the body been re
moved ? "

" We have been thinking about it," was the reply; " but the
truth is, it don't seem like a very safe business. And, after
what we saw last night, no one feels like being the first to do
what may be held an affront by those men. I tell you, Colonel,
I went through the war, and saw as much danger as most men
in it ; but I would rather charge up the Heights of Gettys
burg again than be the object of a raid by that crowd."

After some parley, however, some colored men were found,
and a little party made up, who went out and saw the body
of Uncle Jerry cut down, and laid upon a box to await the
coming of the coroner, who had already been notified. The
inquest developed only these facts, and the sworn jurors sol
emnly and honestly found the cause of death unknown. One
of the colored men who had watched the proceedings gave
utterance to the prevailing opinion, when he said, —

" It don't do fer niggers to know too much ! Dat's what ail
Uncle Jerry ! "

And indeed it did seem as if his case was one in which
ignorance might have been bliss.

CHAPTER XXXII.

"OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART."

THE events which have been narrated in the preceding
chapters, with others of like character, filled the mind of the
Fool with a sort of dull horror. Strangely enough, he was

« OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART." 209

not affected with fear. He knew that he was equally in the
power of the strange organization, which was as secret and as
fatal in its proscription as the Thugs of India. He knew that
he was quite as obnoxious to its leaders, and as likely to feel
their vengeance, as any of the men who had suffered at its
hands ; and yet he was far more moved with consideration of
the general results which must flow from the evil than at any
personal consequences which might befall himself.

So he wrote to one of the Wise Men, and told them all that
he knew, all that he feared. He recounted to them what
had already been done, and his apprehensions as to what might
be done in the future. He called attention to the fact that
these acts sprung from a common motive, and all tended to a
subversion of liberty, and a prevention of the exercise of those
very rights or privileges which it was the spirit and essence of
the war, upon the part of the nation, to confirm and secure
in their completeness and universality. He pointed out the
mockery of that boast which had so many thousand times
already been heralded to the world, —that slavery had been
abolished, and liberty established without "distinction as to
race, color, or previous condition of servitude," while men were
submitted to a persecution not less bitter, and hardly less
sanguinary, than that which " Bloody Mary " visited upon the
heretics of her day. " What they did unto Walters," he wrote,
44 and unto Uncle Jerry, might as reasonably have been done
to me, or to any other man of like political faith." He
showed that it was not personal hostility or antipathy which
had made them victims, but their public character and affilia
tions. He declared that these acts of outrage numbered not
less than a thousand in the district in which he resided, and
that not one had been punished, or could be punished, by the
ordinary tribunals, because of the perfection of the disguise
which was worn, from the precautions taken to avoid detec
tion, and the fact that so large a proportion of those com
petent to serve as jurors were quite likely to be particeps cri?n-
inis.

He asked if there was not some manner in which the

210 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

government could move for the suppression of this evil. The
letter was the spontaneous outpouring of a heart surcharged
with the agony of a hopeless conflict with a hidden and
unrelenting foe. It was without reservation, being sent to
a Wise Man with whom he had maintained such intimacy
of relation as folly may be allowed to hold with \visdom.

This letter, for some reason or other, though it wras a private
one to himself, the Wise Man allowed to be published in the
newspapers: so it resulted that the Fool received more than
one answer thereto. The answer received from the Wise Man
to whom he had addressed it, though somewhat petulant, — as
if the glory which he had won by his advocacy of the success
ful plan of reconstruction had already soured upon his stomach,
— was at least frank and honest in its sentiments, and no
doubt expressed the writer's views with precision : —

WASHINGTON, D.C., Nov. 10, 18—.

MY DEAR COLONEL, — Your letter of recent date is re
ceived, and I have duly considered its contents. The state of
affairs which you picture is undoubtedly most distressing and
discouraging ; but I can not see how it can be improved by any
action of the General Government. The lately rebellious
States are now fully restored, and are sovereign republics, of
co-ordinate rights and powers with the other States of this
Union. The acts of violence described are of course offenses
against their laws, and as such are punishable in their courts.
It is no doubt a misfortune that those courts are either unable
or unwilling to punish such crimes ; but it is a misfortune that
does not seem to me to be remediable by national legislation.

It must be evident to you that the government can not
always interfere in the internal affairs of those States. They
must be allowed to control, direct, and order their own affairs,
as other States do. It is, no doubt, very unfortunate; but
it is far better than to break down or disregard the fun
damental principles of our government, — the sacred barriers
of the Constitution. Individual discomforts and evils must
give way to the public good. The principle of self-govern-

« OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART." 211

ment must be recognized and maintained, even at the sacrifice
of individual interests and rights. The States must protect
the lives, persons, and property of their own citizens from
aggression on the part of others. The National Government
can not act, so long as its existence or its authority is not
assailed or interfered with.

Of course there will always be instances of grievous wrong
practiced, both upon individuals and upon classes, in all of the
States. I suppose there are classes, in every State, which are
liable to injustice and oppression ; but the government can not
interfere. You say these acts are done to prevent the free
exercise of the ballot, and I have no doubt you are right ; but
I do not see how that affects the question. In fact, my friend
[for the Wise Man called all men his friends], it is necessary
that the people of the South should learn, what it seems almost
impossible that some can apprehend after so many years of
military government, — that all these questions of the rights
of citizens are relegated, by the fact of reconstruction, to the
tribunals of the States, and must be settled and determined
there, according to the spirit of the Constitution.

There is one thing, however, that you will allow me to say.
If the colored people and the Union men of the South expect to
receive the approval, respect, and moral support of the country,
they must show themselves capable of self-government, able
to take care of themselves. The government has done all it
can be expected to do, — all it had power to do, in fact. It has
given the colored man the ballot, armed him with the weapon
of "the freeman, and now he must show himself worthy to use
it. We have prepared him for the battle of freedom, and it is
for him to furnish the manhood requisite for the struggle.
The same is true of the poor white and of the Union man.
Instead of whining over the wrongs they suffer at the hands of
the rebels, they should assert themselves, and put down such
lawless violence. They should combine to enforce the law, or,
if the law can not be enforced, then to protect themselves. The
capacity of a people for self-government is proved, first of all,
by its inclination and capacity for self-protection. This capa-

212 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

city must exist in order that self-governing communities may
exist. The doctrine of government by majorities is based
upon the idea that the majority will be sufficiently bold and
self-asserting to claim and maintain its rights. It is contem
plated, of course, that they will do this in a lawful and peacea
ble manner ; but it is also presumed that they will be capable
of such assertion by physical means, should an appeal to force
at any time become necessary. If you can not obtain protection
through the courts, I do not see why you should not protect
yourselves. If people are killed by the Ku-Klux, why do they
not kill the Ku-Klux?

These are the questions that arise in my mind. I would
not presume to advise, but think they are the questions which
all reasonable men must propound to themselves in regard to
this matter.

Very respectfully,

To this letter the Fool answered as follows: —

"MY DEAR SIR, — Your letter in reply to mine of the 5th
inst. recalls the recent past very vividly. I am perhaps
bound to admit your conclusion that the National Government
can not interfere without violating some of the traditions of our
Federal Republic, but not its principles, and especially not its
spirit.

" It should be remembered that these States as re-created —
not re-constructed — are mere creatures of the national power.
Our legislators and theorizers have been puttering and quib
bling upon the idea, that because there can be no secession, or
dissolution of the Union, upon any principle of reserved right,
therefore there can be no destruction of the States. By a
flimsy fiction it is held that Georgia was a State of the Union at
the very time when a hostile government was organized there,
dominated every foot of her territory, exacted allegiance and
tribute from every inhabitant of her soil, and furnished her
contingent for armed resistance to the United States.

" It is a shallow trick of the sciolist. The act of rebellion,

« OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART." 213

when it is so far successful as to overturn the government of a
State of this Union, and establish a hostile one in its stead,
destroys that State. The fallacy lies in the application of the
word ' State,' in its original or international sense, to one of
the subordinate commonwealths of our nation. A ' State,' in
that sense, is simply (1) a certain specific territory (2) occupied
by an organized community (3), united under one government.
If that could be applied to any of our States without modifica
tion, this conclusion might be true. But, in order to define our
1 State ' correctly, we must add one other element ; to wit (4),
sustaining certain specific and defined relations to other States,
and to the National Government of the United States of
America.

" It is this last element which rebellion destroyed, and thereby
annihilated the State. Every element of a State of the American
Union remained, except this statal relation to the Union; and
this is just the very element which is as necessary to statal
existence as breath to life. It is what distinguishes a State of
the Union from all other organized communities of earth called
' States.' You may have all but this, and there is no State in
the sense we use it, but only a skeleton, a lifeless body. It is
this element which reconstruction restored. It is this element
which is under the control of the General Government, and must
be so held and deemed, or reconstruction was a clear and fla
grant usurpation.

"You think this a startling doctrine; but, if it be not true,
then both the nation and the loyal people of the South are in a
most dangerous dilemma. It may not be permissible even to
suppose that the plan of reconstruction adopted was not abso
lutely perfect ; but for the argument, allowing it to be found
impracticable and ineffective, then, according to the reasoning
adduced by you, there is no remedy. As the tree fell when
the State was admitted by congressional action, so it must lie
to the end of time. It is like marriage, — a contract indis
soluble by either or both of the parties, a relation which no
antagonism can ever impair or destroy. If that is so, then you
arc right, and our appeal for aid is worse than futile.

214 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" But, if it be true, how great was the crime of those who
thrust upon the poor, ignorant colored people of the South,
upon the few inexperienced and usually humble Union men,
and the still fewer Northern men who have pitched their tents
in this section, the task — the herculean and impossible task —
of building up self- regulating States which should assure and
protect the rights of all, and submit quietly and cheerfully to
the sway of lawful majorities !

"It should be remembered that the pressure for reconstruction
came from the North, — not from the people of the North, but
from its politicians. It was reduced to practice, not because
society here was ripe for its operation, but to secure political
victory and party ascendency. I do not object to this motive:
it is the very thing that makes the government of parties
generally safe. I allude to it only to show that we of the
South, native or foreign-born, are not responsible for the perils
which are now threatening the work that has once received
the approbative fiat, * It is finished ! ' When we prophesied
failure, as so many of us did, we were pooh-poohed like silly
children ; and now, when we announce apparent failure, we are
met with petulant impatience, and told to take care of our
selves.

" It is all well for you, sitting safely and cosily in your easy-
chair under the shadow of the dome of the Capitol, to talk
about asserting ourselves, protecting ourselves, and retaliating
upon our persecutors. Either you have not apprehended our
condition, or you are inclined to 'mock at our calamity.'

" Resistance, I mean such resistance as would be effective,
is ver}r nearly impossible. In the first place an overwhelming
force is always concentrated on the single isolated individual.
It is -not a mob, except in the aggregation of strength and
numbers. Every thing is planned and ordered beforehand.
The game is stalked. He that resists does so at hopeless odds.
He may desperately determine to throw away his life ; but he
can accomplish no other result than to take one with him as
he goes, and the chances are against even that. You must
remember that the attack is only made at night, is always a

« OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART." 215

matter of surprise, and put in operation by a force whose
numbers strike terror, always enhanced by their fantastic guise,
which also greatly increases the chances of a misshot or false
blow, should the unfortunate victim try to defend himself.

" Resistance by way of retaliation is still more absurd.
Suppose a party of men should whip you to-night, and you
should find yourself unable to penetrate their disguise, or
discover their identity in any manner, would you start out
to-morrow, and run a-muck among your fellow-townsmen ?
Or would you guess at the aggressors, and destroy without
proof? Evidently not. To organize such retaliation would
not be difficult. Such is the exasperation of the colored
people, that they would readily join to give a smoking house
in exchange for every bleeding back : indeed, if they were
not restrained by the counsel of cooler and wiser heads, we
should soon have a servile insurrection here, which would
make the horrors of Sari to Domingo pale before its intensity.
Should we put your advice into practice, the government would
soon find a way to interfere, despite the constitutional provis
ions, or, more properly, constitutional scruples, of some. Leav
ing out of sight the fact that this is a contest of poverty,
ignorance, and inexperience, against intelligence, wealth, and
skill, — the struggle of a race yet servile in its characteristics
with one which has always excelled in domination, — you will
perceive that the idea of retaliation, even among equals in
rank and intelligence, would be futile and absurd.

" As to the State authorities : the courts, you have seen, are
powerless. In a county in which there have been two hun
dred such outrages, there has never been a presentment by the
grand jury for one of them. The impossibility of identifica
tion, the terror v/hich prevents testimony being given, and the
fact that the very perpetrators of these midnight assassina
tions are found on all juries, show this beyond a peradventure :
so that is out of the question also. The Executive of the
State is bound by constitutional limitations much less fanci
ful and airy than those which you have adduced in excuse for
the national legislation. He can not interfere where the pro*

216 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

cess of the courts is not resisted. The whole theory and
policy of our government is to secure this right to the citizen.
The denunciations of all our old Declarations of Rights were
leveled expressly at such usurpations. The Executive who
should dare to organize a military force to protect its citizens,
or to aid in apprehending or punishing such men, would do so,
not only in peril of his life from assassination, but also at the
risk of impeachment, degradation, and ruin.

" So we are remitted to our original petition to the National
Government. If that can give us no aid, we have none to
hope for. We can only repeat the Petrine cry, ' Save, Lord,
or we perish ! '

" Respectfully,

" COMFORT SERVOSSE."

To this letter the Wise Man made no answer, but verbally
stated to a mutual friend that he considered it very disre
spectful to him. The Wise Men of that day looked upon the
supporters of reconstruction at the South as mere instruments
in their hands, — to be worked as puppets, but to be blamed as
men, for the results of their acts. They had not yet arrived
at that refinement of cruelty which also made them scapegoats
for the results of others' ignorance and folly. That was to
come afterward.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG."

THE Fool's neighbors having read his letter to the Wise
Man, as published in the great journal in which it appeared,
were greatly incensed thereat, and immediately convened a
public meeting for the purpose of taking action in regard to
the same. At this meeting they passed resolutions affirming
the quiet, peaceful, and orderly character of the county, and

" LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.' 217

denouncing in unmeasured terms all reports or rumors to a
contrary purport as false and slanderous, and especially affirm
ing with peculiar earnestness that the recent act of violence
which had startled and amazed this law-abiding community
was not the work of any of its citizens, but an irruption from
beyond its borders.

It was noticeable that none of the colored people joined in
this demonstration, nor any of those white people, who, on that
night of horror, had stood with bated breath behind their barred
doors, in the midst of weeping and terrified households mo
mently expecting attack. There were not many of the latter,
it is true, and what was termed " respectable society " had long
ago shut its doors in their faces; and it was by no means to
be expected that the respectable white people of any county
would seek to have their declarations confirmed by the testi
mony of an inferior race, whose evidence, at best, would have
to be taken with many grains of allowance. There were many
eloquent and impressive speeches made on this occasion.

The lawyers were, of course, in the lead, as the profession
always is in all matters of public interest in our land. They
descanted largely upon magna charta, and the law-abiding and
liberty-loving spirit of the people of the grand old county, on
which the sun of American liberty first arose, and had shone
his very brightest ever since. They told how the people,
after being overwhelmed in the holiest crusade for liberty
that the world had ever known, by the hosts of foreign mer
cenaries which the North had hurled against them, after hav
ing their fields and homes ravaged and polluted by Yankee
vandals, had surrendered in good faith, and had endured all
the tyranny and oppression which Yankee cunning and malice
could invent, without resistance, almost without murmuring.
They painted the three years of unutterable oppression, when
they were ground under the heel of "military despotism,"
deprived of the right of self-government, their laws subverted
to the will of a "military satrap," and their judges debarred
from enforcing them according to their oaths of office. They
recalled the fact, that in that very county the sheriff had been

218 A FOOL'S ERE AND.

prevented by a file of soldiers from carrying into effect the
sentence of the court, given in strict conformity with the law
of the State, and requiring the offender to be publicly whipped
on his bare back. They called attention to the fact that the
whipping -post, the stocks, and the branding-iron, — the signifi
cant emblems of their former civilization, — had been swept
away by the influx of " Yankee ideas," which had culminated
in the inexpressible infamy of military reconstruction, and
"nigger supremacy."

Then they turned the torrent of their denunciatory wrath
upon the Fool, and gave free rein to their fancy as they
invented for him a boyhood, youth, and early manhood, suffi
ciently degraded and infamous to fit him for the career of the
carpet-bagger. With a magnificent disregard both of chro
nology and geography, he was represented as having been born
" at Nahtucket, Cape Cod, and all alongshore ; " and by each
successive speaker was credited with a new birth more in
famous, if possible, in its surroundings and associations, than
any theretofore conferred upon him. A life of corresponding
depravity was also invented for each new birthplace, every one
culminating in that last act of unparalleled infamy, — the ut
terance of slanderous reports against the ever-martyred and
long-suffering South, which had laid aside the memory of its
manifold wrongs, and received with open arms one of its op
pressors, — a man whose hands were red with the blood of her
sons slain in battle. Nay, more, he was denounced as one of
those modern moss-troopers who raided and ravaged, and stole
and burned, with the robber-chief, Sherman, on his torch-lit
pathway to the sea, — Sherman, whose infamies were so un
paralleled as to require the use of a new word to express their
enormity, who had made the term " bummer" expressive of the
quintessence of all ignominy.

Then spoke the grave and reverend divine who had dis
coursed with unruffled serenity of "the peaceable fruits of
righteousness " on that chill sabbath when the body of poor
Jerry swung from the adjacent oak, turning here and there
the unseeing orbs in unsyllabled prayer for the common

"LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG." 219

charity of Christian burial. He deplored, as his calling re
quired him to do, all violence and harshness. He even depre
cated harsh words and violent language. But when he saw his
people assailed with false and infamous aspersions by one who
had come among them, and had for years been the recipient of
their forbearing charity and long-suffering patience, he could
not hold his peace. And, after that frank acknowledgment of
his fallibility, the good man did not seem to make any further
effort to do so, but followed the lead of the gentlemen, of the
bar with a zeal that showed a determination to excel, until he
grew hoarse and sweaty, and red in the face, and had lost his
eye-glasses, and shed half a mouthful of false teeth. Then
he sat down for repairs, and the sheriff gave his testimony.

He was a man of few words ; but he avouched the peace and
quiet of the county by telling how few warrants he had in his
hands ; how few presentments had been made by the grand
jury; how certain he was that the acts of violence (which all
regretted) had been almost entirely committed by lawless
bands from other counties; and, in conclusion, he asserted
that he had never-had a paper which he could not serve with
out the aid of a posse. Indeed, so potent was the law-abiding
spirit, that a boy of ten, armed with a lawful warrant, could
arrest any man in the county charged with crime.

To the same effect testified all his deputies, and many other
most honorable men ; and all expressed ay much indignation as
the imperfection of the language would allow, at the atrocity
of the Fool's conduct in reporting any thing derogatory to the
honor of the South, and especially of the law-abiding char
acter of the people of that county.

When all who were full enough for utterance had borne
their testimony, and the laudatory resolutions had been
adopted, one of the young hot-heads of the meeting thought
to immortalize himself by offering a resolution denouncing
the Fool by name, in the strongest terms he could command.
Some of the older and cooler ones were somewhat doubtful
about the policy of such a course ; and, after some discussion,
the resolution was withdrawn, and a committee appointed,

220 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

with instructions to confer with the Fool, see if he still
avowed the authorship of the letter in question, and affirmed
its contents, and report the result of such conference to an
other meeting, to be called by them at such time as they
might select. Thereupon the meeting adjourned, and on the
next day the Fool received the following letter from the
committee : —

" COLONEL COMFORT SERVOSSE. Sir, — The people of
Verdenton and vicinity have seen, with surprise and regret, a
letter purporting to have been written by you, and published
in the New York Age of the 10th inst., stating, among other
things, that there had been ' one thousand outrages committed
in this congressional district by armed men in disguise,' in
other words, by the Ku-Klux as they are called. The good
citizens of this county feel that they would be open to the
most just censure, and dereliction of duty to themselves and
the country, should they permit such communications to pass
without their notice and condemnation. Not wishing to act
in haste, or to do any injustice, the undersigned have been
appointed a committee, on behalf of the law-abiding people
of this vicinity, to inquire of you whether you wrote said letter,
and, if so, whether you still affirm its contents.
" An immediate answer is required.

" Respectfully,

"A. B ,j

" C. D , V Committee."

«E. F .)

To this letter the Fool made answer : —

"To A. B. AND OTHERS, COMMITTEE, — Your favor of this
morning is at hand, informing me that you have been ap
pointed a committee, by a meeting of the citizens of Ver
denton and vicinity, who desire to ascertain whether I am the
writer of a certain letter published in a Northern journal,
which they wish to notice and condemn.

" In reply, I would state that I have read the article to which

"LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG" 221

you refer; that I did write the letter as published, and most
unhesitatingly re-affirm its contents to the best of my knowl
edge and belief. I do not exactly understand the nature of
the demand made upon me ; but as I am always .willing and
anxious to gratify my neighbors with a declaration of laith,
and such reasons as I may have, you will, I feel sure, pardon
me if I see fit to give something more than a mere categorical
answer to your inquiry.

" I am not a little surprised that such a demand should be
made, and in the formal manner which characterizes this. I
find nothing in the letter which I have not repeated and
affirmed over and over again in private conversation, and
several times on public occasions. It would seern, however,
from the tenor of your letter, that the part of it which espe
cially arouses the objurgation of my good neighbors, and the
part which I am informed was especially inveighed against
at the meeting last night, is my estimate of one thousand
outrages in this congressional district. With regard to this,
you will permit me to remark that I am clearly satisfied that
it is altogether below the fact. Of course, as I have nut
access to the secret archives of the Klan, I have no means,
at present, of verifying this estimate. You will recollect that
this estimate embraces every unlawful act perpetrated by
armed and organized bodies in disguise. The entry of the
premises, and surrounding the dwelling with threats against
the inmates ; the seizure and destruction, or appropriation of
arms; the dragging of men, women, and children from their
homes, or compelling their flight; the binding, gagging, and
beating of men and women ; shooting at specific individuals,
or indiscriminately at inhabited houses; the mutilation of
men and women in methods too shocking and barbarous to
be recounted here; burning houses; destroying stock ; and mak
ing the night a terror to peaceful citizens by the ghastly horror
of many and deliberate murders, — all these come within the
fearful category of 'outrages.' I have reason to believe that
the greater proportion of these acts are studiously concealed
by the victims, unless of so serious a character as to render

222 A FOODS ERRAND.

concealment impossible, because of the invariable threat of
more serious punishment in case complaint is made. I know,
in many instances, when parties have come to me from all parts
of the district to seek legal redress, that, when advised that it
could not be obtained, they have begged me to keep silence in
regard to it, lest they should pay with their lives for having
revealed it.

" I am aware, gentlemen, that many of those who are classed
as ' our best citizens ' have heretofore insisted, and perhaps even
yet do insist, that these things were unworthy of serious atten
tion; and I will confess that I have always suspected such
parties of a peculiar knowledge of these crimes which could
only be obtained by privity in regard to their perpetrators.
You yourselves, gentlemen, will bear me witness that I have
omitted no proper opportunity to denounce these acts, and warn
both the perpetrators, and the community at large, that such
horrible barbarities, such disregard of human right and hu
man life, must bear some sort of bitter fruit in the near
future. That I was right, witness the horrid culmination of
deliberate and cowardly barbarity of which your streets were
recently the theater ! Witness the Temple of Justice in a neigh
boring county besmeared with the blood of an officer assassi
nated with cowardly treachery and cold-blooded deliberateness!

" The evidences in support of my estimate are daily accumu
lating, and convincing the most incredulous that it is even
below the horrible truth. And yet you wish to know if I
re-affirm that estimate ! I am uncertain how to regard this
demand. It seems too absurd to be serious, and too polite
for a threat. If it was supposed that recent events, or the
meeting of last night, had so intimidated or alarmed me as to
lead me to retract such statement as the price of immunity,
it was a mistake. I stated in the letter to which you have
directed attention, my apprehension that I might at any mo
ment meet the fate of John Walters. With that apprehen
sion strengthened by your demand, I still reiterate my belief,
and hope I would have fortitude to do so if it were to be my
dying declaration, as indeed it may well be, since no man can

"LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG." 223

be considered safe from assassination who has rendered him
self obnoxious to this band of Christian Thugs.

" With these views, I have done, and shall continue to dt,
all in my power to direct the attention and influence of the
government to this monster evil.

" And now, gentlemen, as I have answered your questions
thus fully, will you permit me to ask one or two for my own
enlightenment ? If the ' good citizens of this county ' are so
anxious to play the censor, why have they not found breath
to utter, in their collective capacity, a protest against the
outrages which bands of disguised villains have perpetrated
in this county ? For more than a year, at brief intervals,
under the very noses of the 'people of Verdenton arid vicinity,'
every right of the citizen has been violated by gangs of masked
villains; and yet they have let them pass without 'notice' or
'condemnation.' Some of the most atrocious outrages which
even the annals of this modern barbarity can furnish were
perpetrated in this very county ; and yet no word of censure
has ever come from the 'people of Verdenton and vicinity.'
No meeting of sympathy, no expression of indignation, no
utterance of horror, is heard from the 'people of Verdenton
and vicinity.' They have no 'duty to the country ' to perform
when men are whipped, women beaten almost to a jelly (white
women too), children made imbecile by fright, and other
outrages perpetrated upon the persons of citizens dwelling ' in
the peace of God and the State,' within the limits of this very
county. But no sooner does one utter a cry of warning, a call
for help, a protest against these fearful enormities, wrung from
his very soul by their frequency and horror, than 'the people
of Verdenton and vicinity ' have a duty to the country, and
must not let this cry escape their 'notice' and 'condemnation.'
The scourged and mangled victims had no claim upon your
sympathy; but the masked and uniformed desperadoes and
assassins who perpetrated these fearful, bloody deeds — ah! —

' Take them up tenderly,
Touch them with care.'

Whoever speaks of their crimes above a whisper must be

224 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

'noticed and condemned.' Ah, 'people of Verdenton and
vicinity,' with the highest personal regard for many of your
number, I must say, with ' surprise and regret,' that the con
duct of many in this matter bears a flavor which I hesitate to
name !

" Duty is a good thing, gentlemen. The notice and condem
nation of evil, the reprehension of vice, is so noble a virtue that
even an excess of zeal in its exercise may be pardoned or
admired. Amor patrice is a thing so glorious that poets will
hymn its praises for all time. But I have understood, gentle
men, that respected brands are sometimes placed upon spurious
articles. Duty is sometimes but the livery of an unworthy
purpose ; reprehension of evil, only the flurry which wrong stirs
up to cover its retreat ; and amor patrice — well, it has different
faces, 'sometimes the image of good Queen Bess, and anon of
a Bloody Mary.' There are near at hand some very ugly facts
which it would be well for you to consider at this time.

" Let it not be understood, that, by these remarks, I would
reflect upon all the 'people of Verdenton and vicinity.' Some
of them have stood forth and denounced these acts from the
first; but these, however, are rare.

" Regretting both the events which originally called forth
my letter, and have made our State a hot-bed of horrors, and
the course which the ' people of Verdenton and vicinity ' have
seen fit to adopt in relation to the same,

" I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant,

" COMFORT SERVOSSE."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE HARVEST OF WISDOM.

THE cry which the Fool had uttered, however, was but the
echo of that which had already come up to the ears of an
astonished nation from the mouths of thousands upon thou-

THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 225

sands of those who had seen and suffered the evils which he
portrayed, and of other thousands of dumb mouths which
spoke of the voiceless agony of death.

This new Reign of Terror had corne so stilly and quietly
upon the world, that none realized its fearfulness and extent.
At first it had been a thing of careless laughter to the great,
free, unsuspecting North, then a matter of contemptuous ridi
cule, and finally a question of incredulous horror. Two
things had contributed to this feeling. Those who had suf
fered had, in the main, been humble people. The public
press did not teem with their wrongs, because there were none
to tell them. They were people, too, \vhose story of wrong
had been so long in the ear of the public, that it was tired of
the refrain. It had yielded, very slowly and unwillingly, to
the conviction that slavery was an evil, and the colored man
too near akin to white humanity to be rightfully held in bond
age, and subjected to another's will. It had slowly and doubt
fully been brought to the point of interference therewith on the
ground of military necessity in the suppression of rebellion,
and, after a grand struggle of conflicting ideas, had finally
settled down to the belief that enfranchisement was all that
was required to cure all the ills which hitherto had afflicted,
or in the future might assail, the troublesome and pestiferous
African. This had been granted. The conscience of the
nation was satisfied, and it highly resolved that thereafter
it would have peace ; that the negro could have no further
ground of complaint, and it would hear no further murmurs.
So it stopped its ears, and, when the south wind brought the
burden of woe, it shook its head blankly, and said, "I hear
nothing, nothing! All is peace."

But, when the cries became so clamorous that they could
not longer be ignored, the Wise Men appointed a committee
who should investigate the matter, and hear all that could
be said both pro and con.

Oh! a strange, sad story is that which fills the thirteen
volumes of testimony, documents, and conclusions, reported
by that committee ; a strange commentary upon Christian

226 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

civilization ; a strange history of peaceful years ; — bloody as
the reign of Mary, barbarous as the chronicles of the Co-
manche !

Of the slain there were enough to furnish forth a battle
field, and all from those three classes, the negro, the scalawag,
and the carpet-bagger, — all killed with deliberation, over
whelmed by numbers, roused from slumber at the murk mid
night, in the hall of public assembly, upon the river-brink,
ou the lonely woods-road, in simulation of the public execu
tion, — shot, stabbed, hanged, drowned, mutilated beyond
description, tortured beyond conception.

And almost always by an unknown hand ! Only the terri
ble, mysterious fact of death was certain. Accusation by secret
denunciation ; sentence without hearing ; execution without
warning, mercy, or appeal. In the deaths alone, terrible be
yond utterance; but in the manner of death — the secret,
intangible doom from which fate springs — more terrible still:
in the treachery which made the neighbor a disguised assassin,
most horrible of all the feuds and hates which history portrays.

And then the wounded, — those who escaped the harder
fate, — the whipped, the mangled, the bleeding, the torn ! men
despoiled of manhood! women gravid with dead children!
bleeding backs ! broken limbs ! Ah ! the wounded in this
silent warfare were more thousands than those who groaned
upon the slopes of Gettysburg! Dwellings and schools and
churches burned ! People driven from their homes, and dwell
ing in the woods and fields ! The poor, the weak, the despised,
maltreated and persecuted — by whom? Always the same
intangible presence, the same invisible power. Well did it
name itself "The Invisible Empire." Unseen and unknown!
In one State ten thousand, in another twenty thousand, in
another forty thousand ; in all an army greater than the
Rebellion, from the moldering remains of which it sprung,
could ever put into the field ! An Invisible Empire, with a
trained and disciplined army of masked midnight marauders,
making war upon the weakling "powers" which the Wise Men
had set up in the lately rebellious territory !

THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 227

And then the defense! — no, not the defense, — the excuse, '
the avoidance set up to rebut the charge, to mitigate the guilt!
Ah, me ! it is sad, sadder almost than the bloody facts them
selves. What is it?

" We were rebels in arms : we surrendered, and by the terms
of surrender were promised immunity so long as we obeyed
the laws. This meant that we should govern ourselves as of
old. Instead of this, they put military officers over us; they
imposed disabilities on our best and bravest ; they liberated
our slaves, and gave them power over us. Men born at the
North came among us, and were given place and power by the
votes of slaves and renegades. There were incompetent offi
cers. The revenues of the State were squandered. We were
taxed to educate the blacks. Enormous debts were contracted.
We did not do these acts of violence from political motives,
but only because the parties had made themselves obnoxious."

Alas, alas that a people who had inaugurated and carried
through a great war should come to regard any thing as an
excuse for organized Thuggism !

Yet it was a magnificent sentiment that underlay it all, — an
unfaltering determination, an invincible defiance to all that
had the seeming of compulsion or tyranny. One can not but
regard with pride and sympathy the indomitable men, who,
being conquered in war, yet resisted every effort of the con
queror to change their laws, their customs, or even the personnel
of their ruling class; and this, too, not only with unyielding
stubbornness, but with success. One can not but admire the
arrogant boldness with which they charged the nation which
had overpowered them — even in the teeth of her legislators —
with perfidy, malice, and a spirit of unworthy and contemptible
revenge. How they laughed to scorn the Reconstruction Acts
of which the Wise Men boasted ! How boldly they declared
the conflict to be irrepressible, and that white and black could
not and should not live together as co-ordinate ruling elements!
How lightly they told the tales of blood, — of the Masked
Night-Riders, of the Invisible Empire of Rifle Clubs and Saber
Clubs (all organized for peaceful purposes), of warnings and
whippings and slaughters! Ah, it is wonderful !

228 A FOODS ERRAND.

And then the organization itself, so complete, and yet so
portable and elastic ! So perfect in disguise, that, of the thou
sands of victims, scarce a score could identify one of their
persecutors ! And among the hundreds of thousands of its
members, of the few \vho confessed and revealed its character,
hardly one knew any thing more than had already been dis
covered; or, if he knew it, did not disclose it! It is all amazing,
but sad and terrible. Would that it might be blotted out, or
disappear as a fevered dream before the brightness of a new
day!

Yet in it we may recognize the elements which should go
to make up a grand and kingly people. They felt themselves
insulted and oppressed. No matter whether they were or not,
be the fact one way or another, it does not affect their conduct.
If the Reconstruction which the Wise Men ordained was un
just; if the North was the aggressor and wrongful assailant of
the South in war; if, to humiliate and degrade her enemy, the
terms of surrender were falsified, and new and irritating con
ditions imposed ; if the outcasts of Northern life were sent or
went thither to encourage and induce the former slave to act
against his former master, — if all this were true, it would be
no more an excuse or justification for the course pursued than
would the fact that these things were honestly believed to be
true by the masses who formed the rank and file of this gro
tesquely uniformed body of partisan cavalry. In any case, it
must be counted but as the desperate effort of a proud, brave,
and determined people to secure and hold what they deemed to
be their rights.

It is sometimes said, by those who do not comprehend its
purpose, to have been a base, cowardly, and cruel barbarism.
" What!" says the Northern man, — who has stood aloof from
it all, and with Pharisaic assumption, or comfortable ignorance
of facts, denounced "Ku-Klux," "carpet-baggers," "scala
wags," and "niggers " alike, — " was it a brave thing, wrorthy of
a brave and chivalric people, to assail poor, weak, defenseless
men and women with overwhelming forces, to terrify, maltreat,
and murder ? Is this brave and commendable ? "

THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 229 f

Ah, my friend ! you quite mistake. If that were all that
was intended and done, no, it was not brave and commenda
ble. But it was not alone the poor colored man whom the
daring band of night-riders struck, as the falcon strikes the
sparrow; that indeed would have been cowardly: but it was
the Nation which had given the victim citizenship and power,
on whom their blow fell. It was no brave thing in itself for
old John Brown to seize the arsenal at Harper's Ferry; con
sidered as an assault on the almost solitary watchman, it was
cowardly in the extreme : but, when we consider what power
stood behind that powerless squad, we are amazed at the daring
of the Hero of Ossawattoraie. So it was with this magnificent
organization.

It was not the individual negro, scalawag, or carpet-bagger,
against whom the blow was directed, but the power — the
Government — the idea which they represented. Not unfre-
quently, the individual victim was one toward whom the
individual members of the Klan who executed its decree upon
him had no little of kindly feeling and respect, but whose
influence, energy, boldness, or official position, was such as to
demand that he should be "visited." In most of its assaults,
the Klan was not instigated by cruelty, nor a desire for
revenge ; but these were simply the most direct, perhaps the
only, means to secure the end it had in view. The brain, the
wealth, the chivalric spirit of the South, was restive under
what it deemed degradation and oppression. This association
offered a ready and effective method of overturning the hated
organization, and throwing off the rule which had been im
posed upon them. From the first, therefore, it spread like
wildfire. It is said that the first organization was instituted
in May, or perhaps as late as the 1st of June, 1868; yet by
August of that year it was firmly established in every State
of the South. It was builded upon an ineradicable sentiment
of hostility to the negro as a political integer, and a fierce de
termination that the white people of the South, or a majority
of that race, should rule, — if not by the power of the ballot,
then by force of skill, brain, and the habit of domination.

230 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

The bravest and strongest and best of the South gave it their
recognition and support, — in most cases actively, in some
passively. Thousands believed it a necessity to prevent an
archy and the destruction of all valuable civilization ; others
regarded it as a means of retaliating upon the government,
which they conceived to have oppressed them; while still
others looked to it as a means of acquiring place and power.

That it outgrew the designs of its originators is more than
probable; but the development was a natural and unavoidable
one. It is probable that it was intended, at first, to act solely
upon the superstitious fears of the ignorant and timid colored
race. The transition from moral to physical compulsion was
easy and natural, especially to a people who did not regard
the colored man as having any inherent right to liberty and
self-government, or the personal privileges attendant thereon,
but only such right as was conferred by a legislation which
was deemed at least questionable. The native whites who had
identified themselves with that movement which gave political
power to the blacks were regarded not only as mercenaries and
renegades who had deserted their section, but also as traitors
to their race. The Northern men who did likewise were
regarded as intruders and invaders, and believed to be insti
gated, not only by the basest personal motives, but also by
that concentrated hate which the Southern man always attrib
uted to the Northern opponent of slavery. Unaccustomed to
immigration as the South was, accustomed, indeed, to regard
all strangers with suspicion, until assured of their harmless-
ness as regarded the main institution of their land, it needed
but the conviction of oppression, and the chagrin of defeat,
to make them look upon every individual from the hostile
section as an active and virulent enemy, whose claim of citizen
ship there was a false pretense, constituting the owner, in
effect, an emissary of the enemy, entitled only to the con
sideration and treatment of the spy.

All this was natural, and should have been foreseen and acted
upon by the Wise Men whose task it was to reform the shat
tered nation. As it was not done, however, and the cry for

THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 231

relief came up from so many thousands, the Congress ap
pointed this committee, and enacted certain laws in regard
to the matter for the protection of its citizens. At the same
time, the various State governments in the South (which, it
will he remembered, had been placed in power by the new
political dements) began to move in the same direction. In
some, the Executive levied troops, and suspended the writ of
Habeas Corpus, on the ground that the power of the State was
threatened and subverted by this organization. But meantime,
and before either power had carried their designs into practical
execution, the Klan organization had accomplished its primary
object, the majority which had pronounced in favor of the
Reconstruction measures had been suppressed in quite a
number of the States, and the minority found themselves in
legislative control. Instantly, upon this being ascertained, the
power of such States was turned upon those who had exerted
extraordinary powers to protect their people from the raids and
violence of the Klan. The governors of some were impeached
and deposed for this cause. Others were threatened with the
same fate, and resigned to avoid it.

This new revolution which had begun went on. The Klan
increased in numbers and in power, — an imperium in imperio,

— until its decrees were far more potent, and its power more
dreaded, than that of the visible commonwealths which it
either dominated or terrorized. This fact, together with the
fear of the new laws which had been adopted by the National
Government, the authority of which had not then been ques
tioned, tended somewhat to repress actual violence. Having
gained what was sought, — to wit, the control of their States,

— the leaders now exercised their authority to prevent further
raids; and the hostility against the colored man and his allies
gradually died out as these suppressed classes ceased to be a
political element which need be feared, in the struggle for
domination. The national law, moreover, could not extend
to the crimes perpetrated before its enactment. They were
still only cognizable in the State tribunals, in which it was
not supposed that prosecution would ever be possible. So the

A FOOL'S ERRAND.

organization was easily maintained, lying quiet and unnoticed,
except when, upon occasions, it was deemed proper to mani
fest its power to restrain or punish some daring leader who
refused to obey the logic of events, and give up the contest for
the rule of the majority of voters in those States, instead of
the majority of the White Leaguers therein.

The revolution had been , inaugurated, and its feasibility
demonstrated. Henceforth it was only a question of time as
to its absolute and universal 'success. The rule of the majori
ty had been overthrown, the power of the Government boldly
defied, and its penalties for crime successfully evaded, that
the enfranchisement of the colored man might be rendered a
farce; and the obnoxious Amendments and Reconstruction
legislation had been shown to be practically nullified. Read
by the light of other days, the triumph of the ancient South
was incredibly grand ; in the then present there was little
lacking to give it completeness; in the future — well, that
could take care of itself.

CHAPTER XXXV.

AN AWAKENING.

LILY, the one child of Comfort and Metta Servosse, had
developed under the Southern sun, until, almost before her
parents had noted the fact, she had the rounded form and
softened outlines indicative of womanhood. The atmosphere
in which she had lived had also developed her mind not less
rapidly. From her infancy almost, owing to the peculiar
circumstances which surrounded their life, she had been the
constant companion and trusted confidant of her mother.

Shut out from all that may be termed "society" by the
unfortunate relations which her husband and she herself sus
tained to those around them, regarded either as enemies,

AN AWAKENING. 233

intruders, or inferiors, by those whose culture rendered their
society desirable, Metta had not sought to remove this impres
sion, but, acting upon her husband's advice, had calmly and
proudly accepted the isolation thus imposed upon her, only
compensating herself by a more intimate and constant associa
tion with her husband, sharing his thoughts, entering into his
plans and purposes, and interesting herself in all that in
terested him. It resulted that she took the liveliest interest
in all that concerned the present and future of that community
in which they dwelt. Side by side with her husband she had
digged into the history of the past, studied the development
of the present, and earnestly endeavored to find some clew
to the clouded and obscure future. In this absorbing question
her heart had become weaned from many of those things
which constitute so much of the ordinary life of woman ;
and, in the society of her husband and the care and education
of her daughter, she had almost ceased to miss those social
enjoyments to which she had been accustomed before their
migration.

The exciting events which had occurred around them had
drawn this little family into even closer relations with each
other than this involuntary isolation would, of itself, have
compelled. The difficulties and dangers attending the Fool's
life and duties had woven themselves into the daily life of
the wife and daughter, until they became the one engrossing
theme of their thought and the burden of their conversations.
During his absence, anxiety for his safety, and, during his
presence, thankfulness for his preservation, filled their hearts.
Every act of violence perpetrated by the mysterious enemy
which lay hidden all about them was one more evidence of
the peril which surrounded him on whom all their hopes were
centered. Every call of duty which took him from their sight
was another trial of their faith in the great Deliverer. Every
absence and every return increased the intensity of their
anxiety, and fixed their minds more exclusively upon those
events which were passing day by day about them. Each
farewell came to have the solemnity of a death-bed, and each
return, the solemn joy of an unexpected resurrection.

234 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

In this furnace-blast of excitement and apprehension the
young girl's heart and mind had matured even more rapidly
than her person. A prudence unknown to one of her years
, who had lived in quiet times and under other conditions of
society, had come to be habitual with her. The constant
apprehension of attack from the masked marauders had famil
iarized her with danger, and given her a coolness and decision
of character which nothing else could have developed. She
had seen the dread cavalcade pass in the dim moonlight, and
had stood at her chamber-window, revolver in hand, prepared
to take part in the expected defense of their home. She had
learned to watch for danger, to see that all precautions were
adopted against it, to be cautious what she said, and to whom
she said it, to weigh with suspicious doubt the words and acts
of all whom she met. Many a time, while yet a mere child,
she had been called upon to be her mother's consoler in seasons
of doubt and apprehended danger. A thousand times she had
seen the dull gray look of agonized foreboding steal into the
loved face, and had bravely undertaken the duty of lightening
the mother's woe. All this had ripened her mind with won
derful rapidity.

As she had shared the anxieties and perils of her parents,
she had participated also in their joys. She had early been
trained to the saddle ; and, from the very outset of their life
in the new home, her pony had been the frequent companion
of both Lollard and Jaca in many a long ride. As she grew
older, the pony gave way to her own petted mare; and a more
easy, graceful, and daring rider it was hard to find, even in
that region of unrivaled horsemen and horsewomen. She had
also been trained to the use of arms, and handled both rifle
and revolver, not only without fear, but with readiness and
precision.

In person she was by no means unattractive. She had the
lithe, trim figure of her mother, and, united with it, that soft
ness of outline, delicacy of color, and ease and grace of
carriage which the free, untrammeled life, and soft, kindly
climate of that region, give in such rich measure to those

AN AWAKENING. 235

reared under their influences. Her eyes were of that deep
blue which evinces fortitude and sincerity; while her luxuriant
hair took the character of its hue from the light in which it
was viewed, — " golden in the sunshine, in the shadow brown,"
and, touched by the moonbeam, a spray of tinted silver.
It had been the joy and pride of the fond mother. Shears
had never marred its glossy sheen ; and it had rarely felt the
restraint of twist or braid, but had hung naturally about the
child's shoulders, until it fell, in a rippling cascade, to her
waist. To these personal attributes Lily joined a sunniness
of temper, a sparkle and vivacity of mind, inherited from far
away French ancestors, which seemed to have been brought
out by the sunny brightness of the kindred clime in which she
had been reared. These charms combined to render her an
exceedingly piquant and charming maiden ; so that, as she
rode here and there with her parents, or scrambled about the
shady bridle-paths of the adjacent country alone, her beauty
came to be remarked. The young people of the vicinity began
shyly to court her presence, and finally opened their social
circles arid their hearts to her, only regretting that her parents
were not "our people," and kindly exercising more or less
forgetfulness of her origin.

Among those who had seen and admired the bright presence
which reigned supreme at Warrington was Melville Gurney,
the son of General Marion Gurney of Pultowa County, adjoining
that in which the Fool resided. Young Gurney was a splendid
specimen of the stock of Southern gentlemen from which he
sprung, being tall and commanding in person, of that easy
grace which is rarely matched in other portions of the country,
and admirably adapted to excel in field-sports, in all of which
he was an acknowledged proficient. His early youth had cov
ered the period of the war, in which his father had won no
little renown, and before his sixteenth birthday he had run
away from home, riding his own horse, to take part in the last
campaign of Early in the Valley of the Shenandoah, where his
father's command was engaged. After the last defeat he found
his father lying wounded in a Federal hospital, and by unre-

236 A FOOUS ERRAND.

mitting exertion saved him from fatal prostration, and brought
him home to slow but certain recovery. The daring youngster
could not, after that, confine himself to the dull routine of the
college; but in his father's library, and afterwards in his office,
he had received a culture riot less complete, although very dif
ferent from what he would have gathered in the course of a
collegiate career. This young man, bold, active, and endowed
with a superabundant vitality, had met the little lady of War-
rington at a festive gathering near his father's home a few
months before the time to which our story has advanced, and,
with the frank impetuosity characteristic of his nativity, had
forthwith testified his admiration, and asked an invitation to
Warrington.

That the young girl should be flattered by the attentions of
so charming a cavalier, was but natural. It was the first time,
however, that she had been asked to extend the hospitalities of
her father's house to any of her associates, and at once the
anomalous position in which they stood to those by whom they
were surrounded forced itself upon her thought. Her face
flushed for an instant, and then, looking up quietly into his,
she said, —

"Are you in earnest, Mr. Gurney? Would you really like
to visit Warrington? "

The inquiry brought the young man to a serious considera
tion of his own request. When he had first preferred it, he
had thought only of the fair creature by his side: now, he
thought of a thousand incidents which might flow from it.
Bold almost to recklessness, he was sincere almost to bluntness
also, even with himself : therefore, ready as he would have been
•with the words of a mere outward politeness, he honestly hesi
tated before answering the question. Instantly the quick per
ceptions and natural pride of the "carpet-bagger's" daughter
were aroused; and she said somewhat haughtily, but with a
studied courtesy of tone, —

" I see, Mr. Gurney, that your request was merely intended as
an empty compliment, which it is not worth the trouble either
to accept or decline. Excuse me," — and, having already re-

AN AWAKENING. 237

moved her hand from his arm, she bowed lightly, and turned
with a smile to begin a lively conversation with a friend who
stood near.'

The incident showed such coolness and self-control, as well as
frank sincerity, that the admiration of Melville Gurney was
increased rather than diminished thereby. He did not regard
it as a rebuff, but as a self-respecting assertion that one who
doubted as to the propriety of visiting her father's house had no
right to prefer such a request to her. So he did not approach
her again during the evening, but watched her attentively.
And the next day, when he saw her pass his father's office,
mounted upon Lollard (now full of years, but still a horse
of magnificent action and unabated fire), her fair hair falling
free over her dark habit until it almost touched the glossy
coat of her steed, each fiber transformed by the sunlight into a
gleaming thread of gold, he began to feel something of regret
that he had not answered her question, and pressed for an
answer to his request.

General Gurney was as active and prominent a political
leader upon the other side as the Fool was upon his, and was
looked upon as a partisan of similar intensity of conviction.
Both were pronounced and positive men. They were well-
matched opponents too, had more than once met upon the
stump, and had served together in public bodies. There was
that acquaintance between them which such association gives,
without further personal relations, and perhaps something of
that esteem which is sure to prevail between men often pitted
against each other without decisive victory. The general was
the representative of an old and honored family, and felt, with
the utmost keenness, the degradation resulting from defeat,
and the subsequent elevation of the colored man to a position
of political co-ordination with the white race. He had married
early ; Melville was the oldest child, and on him the hopes,
aspirations, and love of the father were centered in an unusual
degree.

" What do you think of Colonel Servosse, Pa ? " asked the
son a few moments after Lily had passed.

238 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"Think about him? That he is the worst Radical in the
State. He has the most ineradicable hate of every thing
Southern that I have ever known," answered the father.

" But aside from his politics, — as a man, Pa, what do you
think of him?"

" Oh! as a man he is well enough ; in fact, better than I could
wish. Personally there seems to- be no weak spot in his armor.
They did try to make some attack upon his character; but no
one really believed it, and I am of the notion that it did us
more harm than good. I never did believe it, though I have
sometimes hinted at it, just because I saw that I could get
under his hide in no other way. He is the coolest and most
collected man I have ever met in public life."

" Is he a gentleman ? "

" Well — yes, in a Northern sense," answered the father. " I
have no doubt that if he had staid at the North, and I had
known him as a Northern man, I should have enjoyed him
thoroughly. Everybody who is acquainted with him admits
that he has fine social qualities. He is somewhat reserved to
strangers. He is a man of decided ability and culture, and I
count him one of the most dangerous Radicals in the State.
But why do you ask ? "

"Well, I thought I would like to know all sides of him,"
replied the son. " I had read so much of him, and had heard
you speak of him so often in a semi-public manner, that I
thought I would like to know your actual opinion in regard to
him."

" That's right. You ought to learn every thing you can of a
man of his mark. You will meet his influence in the State as
long as you live. He has left an impress upon it that would
remain, even if he should die to-morrow.'7

Soon afterwards Melville Gurney wrote a note to Lily Ser-
vosse, which contained only these words : —

"Miss LILY, — Will you allow me, after mature deliberation,
to renew the request which 1 made to you?

" Respectfully,

"MELVILLE GURNEY."

AN AWAKENING. 239

Lily took this to her mother, and told her all that had oc
curred. For the first time the mother realized that her daugh
ter was growing into womanhood. The blushes which accom
panied hsr narrative told that her heart was awakened. It
seemed but a little while since she was only a prattling child;
but now, as the mother looked on her budding beauty, she
could but admit, with a pang of sorrow, that the days of girl
hood were over, that the summer of love had come, and that
her pretty bird was but pluming her wings for the inevitable
flight. Like a prudent mother, she determined to do nothing
to hasten this result, and yet to so act as to keep her daughter's
confidence as implicit and spontaneous as it had hitherto been.
So she only kissed the girl's blushing cheek, asking lightly, —

" And would you like to have him come? "

" I don't know, mamma," answered Lily artlessly. "I would
like to be more like — like our neighbors, and have more young
companions."

" And so you shall, my daughter," answered the mother. So
it resulted, that, a few weeks after, a party was given at War-
rington, and Mr. Melville Gurney, with several others of Lily's
friends in Pultowa, received an invitation to be present. Metta
did not see fit to confide any thing of this to the Fool, who only
knew that young Gurney came with others to a party given for
his daughter's pleasure. It was the first time that wife or
daughter had ever had a secret which the husband and father
had not shared.

Mr. Denton, the district-attorney, whose letter to Comfort
Servosse has already been given to the reader, had been elected
a judge of the State courts, and had recently, before the period
at which we have now arrived, been very active in his efforts to
suppress the operation of the Klaii, and punish those engaged
in its raids. By so doing, he had incurred the hostility of the
Klan at large, and especially of that portion with which the
suspected parties had been actually connected. There had
long been threats and denunciations afloat in regard to him;
but he was a brave man, who did not turn aside from the path

240 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

of his duty for any obstacles, and who, while he did not despise
the power of the organization which he had taken by the throat,
was yet utterly oblivious to threats of personal violence. He
would do his duty, though the heavens fell. This was a fact
well known and recognized by all who knew him ; and for this
very reason, most probably, it was generally believed that he
would be put out of the way by the Klan before the time for
the trial of its members arrived.

It was under these circumstances that the Fool received a
telegram from Judge Denton, requesting him to come to Ver-
denton on a certain day, and go with him to his home in an
adjoining county. It was seven miles from Glenville, the
nearest railroad-station, to the plantation of Judge Denton.
To reach it, the chief river of that region had to be crossed on
a long wooden bridge, four miles from the station. The Fool
accepted ihis invitation, and with Metta drove into Verdenton
on the day named.

The railroad which ran nearest to the home of Judge Denton
connected at an acute angle with that on which he was to
arrive at Verdenton. Between the two wras the residence of
Colonel Servosse, six miles from Verdenton, and sixteen from
Glenville.

The train left Verdenton at eight and a half o'clock in the
evening, and ran to the junction, where it awaited the coming
of the northward-bound train on the other road ; so that they
would not arrive at Glenville until ten o'clock, and would reach
the river-bridge about eleven, and the judge's mansion perhaps
a half-hour later. By previous arrangement, his carriage
would meet them at the station. Metta intended to remain
until the train reached Verdenton, and bring home a friend
who was expected to arrive upon it.

Lily remained at home. She wras the " only white person on
the lot," to use the familiar phrase of that region, which means
that upon her rested all the responsibility of the house. The
existence of a servile, or recently servile race, devolves upon
the children at a very early age a sort of vice-regal power in
the absence of the parents. They are expected to see that

AN AWAKENING. 241

" every thing goes on right on the plantation" and about the
house . in such absence ; and their commands are as readily
obeyed by the servants and employees as those of their elders.
It is this early familiarity with the affairs of the parents, and
ready assumption of responsibility, which give to the youth of
the South that air of self-control, and readiness to assume com
mand of whatever matter he may be engaged in. It is thus
that they are trained to rule. To this training, in large meas
ure, is due the fact, that, during all the ante helium period, the
Southern minority dominated and controlled the government,
monopolized its honors and emoluments, and dictated its policy,
in spite of an overwhelming and hostile majority at the North.
The Southrons are the natural rulers, leaders, and dictators of
the country, as later events have conclusively proved.

It was just at sundown, and Lily was sitting on the porch
at Warrington, watching the sunset glow, when a horseman
came in sight, and rode up to the gate. After a moment's
scrutiny of the premises, he seemed satisfied, and uttered the
usual halloo which it is customary for one to give who desires
to communicate with the household in that country. Lily
rose, and advanced to the steps.

" Here's a letter," said the horseman, as he held an envelope
up to view, and then, as she started down the steps, threw it
over the gate into the avenue, and, wheeling his horse, cantered
easily away. Lily picked up the letter. It was directed in a
coarse, sprawling hand, —

" COLONEL COMFORT SERVOSSE,

" WARRINGTON."

In the lower left hand-corner, in a more compact and busi
ness-like hand, were written the words, " Read at once." Lily
read the superscription carelessly as she went up the broad
avenue. It awakened no curiosity in her mind; but, after she
had resumed her seat on the porch, it occurred to her that
both the messenger and his horse were unknown to her. The
former was a white lad of fourteen or fifteen years of age,
whom she might very well fail to recognize. What struck

242 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

her as peculiar was the fact that he was evidently unacquainted
with Warrington, which was a notable place in the country;
and a lad of that age could hardly be found in a circuit of
many miles who could not have directed the traveler to it.
It was evident from the demeanor of this one, that, when he
first rode up, he was uncertain whether he had reached his
destination, and had only made sure of it by recognizing some
specific object which had been described to him. In other
words, he had been traveling on what is known in that country
as a " way-bill," or a description of a route received from
another.

Then she remembered that she had not recognized the horse,
which was a circumstance somewhat remarkable; for it was an
iron-gray of notable form and action. Her love of horses led
her instinctively to notice those which she saw, and her daily
rides had made her familiar with every good horse in a circle
of many miles. Besides this, she had been accustomed to go
almost everywhere with her father, when he had occasion to
make journeys not requiring more than a day's absence. So
that it was quite safe to say that she knew by sight at least
twice as many horses as people.

These reflections caused her to glance again, a little curi
ously, at the envelope. It occurred to her, as she did so,
that the superscription was in a disguised hand. Her father
had received so many letters of that character, all of threat or
warning, that the bare suspicion of that fact aroused at once
the apprehension of evil or danger. While she had been
thinking, the short Southern twilight had given place to the
light of the full moon rising in the East. She went into the
house, and, calling for a light, glanced once more at the en
velope, and then broke the seal. It read, —

" COLONEL SERVOSSE, — A raid of K.K. has been ordered
to intercept Judge Denton on his way home to-night (the 23d
inst.). It is understood that he has telegraphed to you to
accompany him home. Do not do it. If you can by any
means, give him warning. It is a big raid, and means business.

AN AWAKENING. 243

The decree is, that he shall be tied, placed in the middle of
the bridge across the river, the planks taken up on each side,
so as to prevent a rescue, and the bridge set on fire. I send
this warning for your sake. Do not trust the telegraph. I
shall try to send this by a safe hand, but tremble lest it should
be too late. I dare not sign my name, but subscribe myself
your

" UXKXOWX FRIEXD."

The young girl stood for a moment paralyzed with horror
at the clanger which threatened her father. It did not once
occur to her to doubt the warning she had received. She
glanced at the timepiece upon the mantel. The hands pointed
to eight o'clock.

" Too late, too late ! " she cried as she clasped her hands,
and raised her eyes to heaven in prayerful agony. She saw
that she could not reach Verdenton in time to prevent their
taking the train, and she knew it would be useless to telegraph
afterwards. It was evident that the wires were under the
control of the Klan, and there was no probability that a
message would be delivered, if sent, in time to prevent the
catastrophe.

" O my dear, dear papa ! " she cried, as she realized more
fully the danger. " O God ! can nothing be done to save
him! "

Then a new thought flashed upon her mind. She ran to the
back porch, and called sharply, but quietly, —

"William! Oh, William!"

A voice in the direction of the stables answered, —

" Ma'am V "

" Come here at once."

" Oh, Maggie ! " she called.

" Ma'am ? " from the kitchen.

"Bring me a cup of coffee, some biscuits, and an egg —
quick ! "

" Law sakes, chile, what makes ye in sech a hurry? Supper
'11 be ready direckly Miss Mettie gits home. Can't yer wait '? "
answered the colored woman querulously.

244 A FOODS ERRAND.

"Never mind. I'll do without it, if it troubles you," said
Lily quietly.

" Bress my soul ! No trouble at all, Miss Lily." said the
woman, entirely mollified by the soft answer. " On'y I couldn't
see what made yer be in sech a powerful hurry. Ye'se bev 'em
in a minit, honey."

" William," said Lily, as the stable-boy appeared, " put my
saddle on Young Lollard, and bring him round as quick as
possible."

"But Miss Lily, you know dat hoss " — the servant began
to expostulate.

"I know all about him, William. Don't wait to talk. Bring
him out."

" All right, Miss Lily," he replied, with a bow and a scrape.
But, as he went toward the stable, he soliloquized angrily,
" Now, what for Miss Lily want to ride dat pertickerler hoss,
you s'pose ? Never did afore. Nobody but de kunnel ebber
on his back, an' he hab his hands full wid him sometimes.
Dese furrer-bred hosses jes' de debbil anyhow ! Dar's dat
Young Lollard now, it's jest 'bout all a man's life's wuth ter rub
him down, an' saddle him. Why can't she take de ole un!
Here you, Lollard, come outen dat! "

He threw open the door of the log-stable where the horse
had his quarters, as he spoke, and almost instantly, with a
short, vicious whinney, a powerful dark-brown horse leaped
into the moonlight, and with ears laid back upon his sinuous
neck, white teeth bare, and thin, blood-red nostrils distended,
rushed towards the servant, who, with a loud, "Dar now !
Look at him! Whoa! See de dam rascal !" retreated quickly
behind the door. The horse rushed once or twice around
the little stable-yard, and then stopped suddenly beside his
keeper, and stretched out his head for the bit, quivering in
every limb with that excess of vitality which only the thor
ough-bred horse ever exhibits. lie was anxious for the bit
and saddle, because they meant exercise, a race, an opportunity
to show his speed, which the thorough-bred recognizes as the
one great end of his existence.

AN AWAKENING. 245

Before the horse was saddled, Lily had donned her riding-
habit, put a revolver in her belt, as she very frequently did
when riding alone, swallowed a hasty supper, scrawled a short
note to her mother on the envelope of the letter she had
received, — which she charged William at once to carry to
her, — and was ready to start on a night-ride to Glenville. She
had only been there across the country once; but she thought
she knew the way, or was at least so familiar with the "lay"
of the country that she could find it.

The brawny groom with difficulty held the restless horse
by the bit ; but the slight girl, who stood upon the block with
pale face and set teeth, gathered the reins in her hand, leaped
fearlessly into the saddle, found the stirrup, and said, " Let him
go ! " without a quaver in her voice. The man loosed his hold.
The horse stood upright, and pawed the air for a moment
with his feet, gave a few mighty leaps to make sure of his
liberty, and then, stretching out his neck, bounded forward iu
a race which would require all the mettle of his endless line
of noble sires. Almost without words, her errand had become
known to the household of servants; and as she flew down
the road, her bright hair gleaming in the moonlight, old
Maggie, sobbing and tearful, was yet so impressed with admi
ration, that she could only say, —

"De Lor' bress her! Tears like dat chile ain't 'fear'd o'
noffin' ! "

As she was borne like an arrow down the avenue, and turned
into the Glenville road, Lily heard the whistle of the train as
it left the depot at Verdenton, and knew that upon her cool
ness and resolution alone depended the life of her father.

246 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A RACE AGAINST TIME.

IT was, perhaps, well for the accomplishment of her pur
pose, that, for some time after setting out on her perilous
journey, Lily Servosse had enough to do to maintain her seat,
and guide and control her horse. Young Lollard, whom the
servant had so earnestly remonstrated against her taking,
added to the noted pedigree of his sire the special excellences
of the Glencoe strain of his dam, from whom he inherited
also a darker coat, and that touch of native savageness which
characterizes the stock of Emancipator. Upon both sides his
blood was as pure as that of the great kings of the turf, and
what we have termed his savagery was more excess of spirit
than any inclination to do mischief. It was that uncontrolla
ble desire of the thorough-bred horse to be always doing his
best, which made him restless of the bit and curb, while the
native sagacity of his race had led him to practice somewhat
on the fears of his groom. With that care which only the
true lover of the. horse can appreciate, Colonel Servosse had
watched over the growth and training of Young Lollard,
hoping to see him rival, if he did not surpass, the excellences
of his sire. In every thing but temper, he had been gratified
at the result. In build, power, speed, and endurance, the
horse offered all that the most fastidious could desire. In
order to prevent the one defect of a quick temper from
developing into a vice, the colonel had established an inflexi
ble rule that no one should ride him but himself. His
great interest in the colt had led Lily, who inherited all her
father's love for the noble animal, to look very carefully
during his enforced absences after the welfare of his favorite.
Once or twice she had summarily discharged grooms who
were guilty of disobeying her father's injunctions, and had

A RACE AGAINST TIME. 247

always made it a rule to visit his stall every day; so that,
although she had never ridden him, the horse was familiar
with her person and voice.

It was well for her that this was the case ; for, as he
dashed away with the speed of the wind, she felt how power
less she was to restrain him by means of the bit. Nor did she
attempt it. Merely feeling his mouth, and keeping her eye
upon the road before him, in order that no sudden start to
right or left should take her by surprise, she coolly kept her
seat, and tried to soothe him by her voice.

With head outstretched, and sinewy neck strained to its
uttermost, he flew over the ground in a wild, mad race with the
evening wind, as it seemed. Without jerk or strain, but easily
and steadily as the falcon flies, the highbred horse skimmed
along the ground. A mile, two, three miles were made, in time
that would have done honor to the staying quality of his sires,
and still his pace had not slackened. He was now nearing tho
river into which fell the creek that ran by Warrington As
he went down the long slope that led to the ford, his rider
tried in vain to check his speed. Pressure upon the bit but
resulted in an impatient shaking of the head, and laying back
of the ears. He kept up his magnificent stride until he had
reached the very verge of the river. There he stopped, threw
up his head in inquiry, as he gazed upon the fretted waters
lighted up by the full moon, glanced back at his rider, and,
with a word of encouragement from her, marched proudly into
the waters, casting up a silvery spray at every step. Lily did
not miss this opportunity to establish more intimate relations
with her steed. She patted his neck, praised him lavishly,
and took occasion to assume control of him while he was in
the deepest part of the channel, turning him this way and that
much more than was needful, simply to accustom him to obey
her will.

When he came out on the other bank, he would have
resumed his gallop almost at once; but she required him to
walk to the top of the hill. The night was growing chilly by
this time. As the wind struck her at the hill-top, she remem-

248 A FOODS ERRAND.

bered that she had thrown a hooded waterproof about her
before starting. She stopped her horse, and, taking off her
hat, gathered her long hair into a mass, and thrust it into the
hood, which she drew over her head, and pressed her hat down
on it; then she gathered the reins, and they went on in that
long, steady stride which marks the highbred horse when he
gets thoroughly down to his work. Once or twice she drew
rein to examine the landmarks, and determine which road to
take. Sometimes her way lay through the forest, and she was
startled by the cry of the owl ; anon it was through the reedy
bottom-land, and the half-wild hogs, starting from their lairs,
gave her an instant's fright. The moon cast strange shadows
around her; but still she pushed on, with this one only thought
in her mind, that her father's life was at stake, and she alone
could save him. She had written to her mother to go back
to Verdenton, and telegraph to her father ; but she put no
hope in that. How she trembled, as she passed each fork in
the rough and ill-marked country road, lest she should take the
right-hand when she ought to turn to the left, and so lose
precious, priceless moments! How her heart beat with joy
when she came upon any remembered landmark ! And all
the time her mind was full of tumultuous prayer. Sometimes
it bubbled over her lips in tender, disjointed accents.

" Father ! Papa, dear, dear Papa ! " she cried to the bright
still night that lay around ; and then the tears burst over the
quivering lids, and ran down the fair cheeks in torrents. She
pressed her hand to her heart as she fancied that a gleam of
redder light shot athwart the northern sky, and she thought of
a terrible bonfire that would rage and glow above that horizon
if she failed to bring timely warning of the danger. How her
heart throbbed with thankfulness as she galloped through an
avenue of giant oaks at a cross-roads where she remembered
stopping with her father one day ! He had told her that it was
half way from Glenville to Warrington. He had watered their
horses there ; and she remembered every word of pleasant
badinage he had addressed to her as they rode home. Had one
ever before so dear, so tender a parent? The tears came

A RACE AGAINST TIME. 249

again; but she drove them back with a half-involuntary laugh.
"Not now, not now ! " she said " No; nor at all They shall
not come at all; for I will save him. O God, help me! I am
but a weak girl. Why did the letter come so late? But I will
save him! Help me, Heaven ! — guide and help ! "

She glanced at her watch as she passed from under the shade
of the oaks, and, as she held the dial up to the moonlight, gave
a. scream of joy. It was just past the stroke of nine. She had
still an hour, and half the distance had been accomplished in
half that time. She had no fear of her horse. Pressing on
now in the swinging fox-walk which he took whenever the
character of the road or the mood of his rider demanded, there
was no sign of weariness. As he threw his head upon one side
and the other, as if asking to be allowed to press on, she saw
his dark eye gleam with the fire of the inveterate racer. His
thin nostrils were distended; but his breath came regularly and
full. She had not forgotten, even in her haste and fright, the
lessons her father had taught ; but, as soon as she could control
her horse, she had spared him, and compelled him to husband
his strength. Her spirits rose 'at the prospect. She even
caroled a bit of exultant song as Young Lollard swept on
through a forest of towering pines, with a white sand-cushion
stretched beneath his feet. The fragrance of the pines came to
her nostrils, and with it the thought of frankincense, and that
brought up the hymns of her childhood. The Star in the East,
the Babe of Bethlehem, the Great Deliverer, — all swept
across her wrapt vision ; and then came the priceless promise,
" I will not leave thee, nor forsake."

Still on and on the brave horse bore her with untiring limb.
Half the remaining distance is now consumed, and she comes
to a place where the road forks, not once, but into four
branches. It is in the midst of a level old field covered with
a thick growth of scrubby pines. Through the masses of thick
green are white lanes which stretch away in every direction,
with no visible difference save in the density or frequency of
the shadows which fall across them. She tries to think which
of the many intersecting paths lead to her destination. She

250 A FOOUS ERRAND.

tries this and then that for a few steps, consults the stars to
determine in what direction Glenville lies, and has almost
decided upon the first to the right, when she hears a sound
which turns her blood to ice in her veins.

A shrill whistle sounds to the left, — once, twice, thrice, —
and then it is answered from the road in front. There are two
others. O God! if she but knew which road to take! She
knows well enough the meaning of those signals. She has
heard them before. The masked cavaliers are closing in upon
her ; and, as if frozen to stone, she sits her horse in the clear
moonlight, and can not choose.

She is not thinking of herself. It is not for herself that she
fears ; but there has come over her a horrible numbing sensa
tion that she is lost, that she does not know which roacl leads
to those she seeks to save ; and at the same time there comes
the certain conviction that to err would be fatal. There are
but two roads now to choose from, since she has heard the fate
ful signals from the left and front: but how much depends
upon that choice ! " It must be this," she says to herself; and,
as she says it, the sickening conviction comes, "No, no: it is
the other ! " She hears hoof-strokes upon the road in front, on
that to her left, and now, too, on that which turns sheer to the
right. From one to the other the whistle sounds, — sharp,
short signals. Her heart sinks within her. She has halted at
the very rendezvous of the enemy. They are all about her. To
attempt to ride down either road now is to invite destruction.

She woke from her stupor when the first horseman came in
sight, and thanked God for her dark horse and colorless habit.
She urged young Lollard among the dense scrub-pines which
grew between the two roads from which she knew that she
must choose, turned his head back towards the point of inter
section, drew her revolver, leaned over upon his neck, and
peered through the overhanging branches. She patted her
horse's head, and whispered to him softly to keep him still.

Hardly had she placed herself in hiding, before the open
space around the intersecting roads was alive with disguised
horsemen. She could catch glimpses of their figures as she

A RACE AGAINST TIME. 251

gazed through the clustering spines. Three men came into the
road which ran along to the right of where she stood. They
were hardly five steps from where she lay, panting, but deter
mined, on the faithful horse, which moved not a muscle. Once
he had neighed before they came so near ; but there were so
many horses neighing and snuffing, that no one had heeded it.
She remembered a little flask which Maggie had put into her
pocket. It was whiskey. She put up her revolver, drew out
the flask, opened it, poured some in her hand, and, leaning for
ward, rubbed it on the horse's nose. He did not offer to neigh
again.

One of the men who stood near her spoke.

" Gentlemen, I am the East Commander of Camp No. 5 of
Pultowa County."

" And I, of Camp No. 8, of Wayne."

« And I, of No. 12, Sevier."

" You are the men I expected to meet," said the first.

" We were ordered to report to you," said the others.

"This is Bentley's Cross, then, I presume."

"The same."

" Four miles from Glenville, I believe ? "

" Nigh about that," said one of the others.

"We leave this road about a mile and a half from this
place ? "

"Yes, and cross by a country way to the river-road."

" What is the distance to the river-road by this route ? "

" Not far from five miles."

"It is now about half-past nine; so that there is no haste,.
How many men have you each V "

" Thirty-two from No. 8."

" Thirty-one from No. 12."

"I have myself forty. Are yours informed of the work on
hand?"

" Not a word."

" Are we quite secure here ? "

" I have had the roads picketed since sundown," answered
one. "I myself just came from the south, not ten minutes
before you signaled."

252 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" Ah ! I thought I heard a horse on that road."

" Has the party \ve want left Verdenton? "

" A messenger from Glenville says he is on the train with the
carpet-bagger Servosse."

" Going home with him? "

"Yes."

" The decree does not cover Servosse ? "

"No."

" I don't half like the business, anyhow, and am not inclined
to go beyond express orders. What do you say about it ? "
asked the leader.

" Hadn't we better say the decree covers both ? " asked one.

"I can't do it," said the leader with decision.

" You remember our rules," said the third, — " ' when a party
is made up by details from different camps, it shall constitute
a camp so far as to regulate its own action ; and all matters per
taining to such action which the officer in command may see fit
to submit to it shall be decided by a majority vote.' I think
this had better be left to the camp ? "

"I agree with you," said the leader. "But, before we do so,
let's have a drink."

He produced a flask, and they all partook of its contents.
Then they went back to the intersection of the roads, mounted
their horses, and the leader commanded, " Attention ! "

The men gathered closer, and then all was still. Then the
leader said, in words distinctly heard by the trembling girl, —

" Gentlemen, we have met here, under a solemn and duly
authenticated decree of a properly organized camp of the county
of Rockford, to execute for them the extreme penalty of our
order upon Thomas Denton, in* the way and manner therein
prescribed. This unpleasant duty of course will be done as
becomes earnest men. We are, however, informed that there
will be with the said Denton at the time we are directed to
take him another notorious Radical well known to you all,
Colonel Comfort Servosse. He is not included in the decree ;
and I now submit for your determination the question, ' What
shall be done with him ? ' "

A RACE AGAINST TIME. 253

There was a moment's buzz in the crowd.

One careless-toned fellow said that he thought it would be
well enough to wait till they caught their hare before cook
ing it. It was not the first time a squad had thought they had
Servosse in their power ; but they had never ruffled a hair of
his head yet.

The leader commanded, " Order! " and one of the associate
Commanders moved that the same decree be made against him
as against the said Denton. Then the vote was taken. All
were in the affirmative, except the loud-voiced young man who
had spoken before, who said with emphasis, —

" No, by Granny ! I'm not in favor of killing anybody ! I'll
have you know, gentlemen, it's neither a pleasant nor a safe
business. First we know, we'll all be running our necks into
hemp. It's what we call murder, gentlemen, in civilized and
Christian countries! "

"Order!" cried the commander.

" Oh, you needn't yell at me ! " said the young man fearlessly.
<; I'm not afraid of anybody here, nor all of you. Mel. Gurney
and I came just to take some friends' places who couldn't obey
the summons, — we're not bound to stay, but I suppose I shall
go along. I don't like it, though, and, if I get much sicker, I
shall leave. You can count on that ! "

" If you stir from your place," said the leader sternly, " I shall
put a bullet through you."

" Oh, you go to hell ! " retorted the other. " You don't expect
to frighten one of the old Louisiana Tigers in that way, do
you? Now look here, Jake Carver," he continued, drawing a
huge navy revolver, and cocking it coolly, " don't try any such
little game on me, 'cause, if ye do, there may be more'n one of
us fit for a spy-glass when it's over."

At this, considerable confusion arose; and Lily, with her
revolver ready cocked in her hand, turned, and cautiously made
her way to the road which had been indicated as the one which
led to Glenville. Just as her horse stepped into the path, an
overhanging limb caught her hat, and pulled it off, together
with the hood of her waterproof, so that her hair fell down

254 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

again upon her shoulders. She hardly noticed the fact in her
excitement, and, if she had, could not have stopped to repair
the accident. She kept her horse upon the shady side, walking
upon the grass as much as possible to prevent attracting atten
tion, watching on all sides for any scattered members of the
Klan. She had proceeded thus about a hundred and fifty
yards, when she came to a turn in the road, and saw, sitting
before her in the moonlight, one of the disguised horsemen,
evidently a sentry who had been stationed there to see that no
one came upon the camp unexpectedly. He was facing the
other way, but just at that instant turned, and, seeing her indis
tinctly in the shadow, cried out at once, —

"Who's there? Halt!"

They were not twenty yards apart. Young Lollard was
trembling with excitement under the tightly-drawn rein.
Lily thought of her father half-prayerfully, half-fiercely,
bowed close over her horse's neck, and braced herself in the
saddle, with every muscle as tense as those of the tiger wait
ing for his leap. Almost before the words were out of the
sentry's mouth, she had given Young Lollard the spur, and
shot like an arrow into the bright moonlight, straight towards
the black muffled horseman.

"My God! " he cried, amazed at the sudden apparition.

She was close upon him in an instant. There was a shot;
his startled horse sprang aside, and Lily, urging Young Lol
lard to his utmost speed, was flying down the road toward
Glenville. She heard an uproar behind, — shouts, and one
or two shots. On, on, she sped. She knew now every foot
of the road beyond. She looked back, and saw her pursuers
swarming out of the wood into the moonlight. Just then she
was in shadow. A mile, two miles, were passed. She drew
in her horse to listen. There was the noise of a horse's
hoofs coming down a hill she had just descended, as her
gallant steed bore her, almost with undiminished stride, up
the opposite slope. She laughed, even in her terrible excite
ment, at the very thought that any one should attempt to over
take her.

A RACE AGAINST TIME. 255

" They'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar,"

she hummed as she patted Young Lollard's outstretched neck.
She turned when they reached the summit, her long hair
streaming backward in the moonlight like a golden banner,
and saw the solitary horseman on the opposite slope; then
turned back, and passed over the hill. He halted as she dashed
out of sight, and after a moment turned round, and soon met
the entire camp, now in perfect order, galloping forward dark
and silent as fate. The Commander halted as they met the
returning sentinel.

" What was it? " he asked quickly.

" Nothing," replied the sentinel carelessly. " I was sitting
there at the turn examining my revolver, when a rabbit ran
across the road, and frightened my mare. She jumped, and
the pistol went off. It happened to graze my left arm, so I
could not hold the reins ; and she like to have taken me into
Glenville before I could pull her up."

"I'm glad that's all," said the officer, with a sigh of relief.
" Did it hurt you much ? "

" Well, it's used that arm up, for the present."

A hasty examination showed this to be true, and the reck
less-talking young man was detailed to accompany him to
some place for treatment and safety, while the others passed
on to perform their horrible task.

The train from Verdenton had reached and left Glenville.
The incomers had been divided between the rival hotels, the
porters had removed the luggage, and the agent was just
entering his office, when a foam-flecked, horse with bloody
nostrils and fiery eyes, ridden by a young girl with a white, set
face, and fair, flowing hair, dashed up to the station.

" Judge Denton ! " the rider shrieked.

The agent had but time to motion with his hand, and she
had swept on towards a carriage which was being swiftly
driven away from the station, and which was just visible at the
turn of the village street.

256 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" Papa, Papa ! " shrieked the girlish voice as she swept on.

A frightened face glanced backward from the carriage, and
in an instant Comfort Servosse was standing in the path of
the rushing steed.

" Ho, Lollard ! " he shouted, in a voice which rang over the
sleepy town like a trumpet-note.

The amazed horse veered quickly to one side, and stopped as
if stricken to stone, while Lily fell insensible into her father's
arms. When she recovered, he was bending over her with a
look in his eyes which she will never forget.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE "REB" VIEW OF IT.

LILY had faltered out her message of horror even in the
unconscious moments when she was being carried in her
father's arms to the hotel. Indeed, her unexpected appear
ance, and clamorous haste to prevent her father's departure
from the town, would have been sufficient to inform him that
she knew of some danger that impended. Her unconscious
mutterings had still further advised him of the character of
the danger and the fact that she herself had narrowly es
caped. This was all he could glean from her. Her over
taxed system had given way with excitement and fatigue, and,
fortunately for her, she slept. A physician was called, who,
after examination of her condition, directed that she should
in no event be aroused. A telegram from Metta, which should
have been delivered on the arrival of the train, confirmed the
conclusion at which Servosse had arrived. He left the bed
side of the daughter who to his eyes had grown to woman
hood since the noon of the day before, but once during the
night, and that was but to telegraph to Metta, to provide that
Young Lollard should be well cared for, and to consult with

THE "REB" VIEW OF IT. 257

Judge Denton, who had remained with them in the town.
It was by no means certain that the danger had passed by : so
these two men concluded to watch until morning.

It was broad daylight when Lily opened her eyes, to find her
father holding her hand, and gazing upon her with inexpressi
ble affection. She told him all as soon as her weakness and
her sobs would permit, and was more than repaid for all she
had dared and suffered by the fervent embrace and the tremu
lous " God bless you, my daughter ! " which followed her
recital. Then he ordered some refreshments for her, and
recommended further sleep, while he went to recount her
story to his friend.

Somehow the story seemed to have leaked out during the
night, and every one about the town was aware of its main
features. That there had been a raid intended, nay, that it
had even been organized, and proceeded to the bridge across
the river, for the purpose of intercepting Judge Denton on his
way home, was undoubted. That the party had rendezvoused
at Bentley's Cross-Roads was also known, as well as the fact
that the judge's carriage had been stopped and turned l)ack,
just on the outskirts of Glenville, by the arrival of the daughter
of Colonel Servosse, bareheaded, and mounted on a foaming
steed. That she had come from Warrington was presumed,
and that she must have passed Bentley's Cross about the time
of the rendezvous was more than probable. Added to this
was the fact that a countryman coming to market early had
brought in a lady's riding-hat which he had found at the very
spot where the Klan had met. He was closely examined as
to the appearance of the ground, and the precise point at
which he found it. Of course, it was by no means sure that
it was Miss Lily's hat ; but such was evidently the impression.
The loud-voiced young man who had been detailed to take
care of the wounded sentinel, and who had come into the
same town with his charge, volunteered to ascertain that
fact, and took the hat into his possession. Returning to the
hotel, and entering the room where a young man lounged
upon the bed, with his left arm in a sling, he exclaimed, —

258 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"I thought it was mighty queer that a rabbit had made
Melville Gurney shoot himself, and let his horse run away too.
I think I understand it now."

He laid the hat upon the bed beside his friend as he spoke.
Melville Gurney recognized it in an instant; but he tried to
betray no emotion, as he asked, —

" Well, what is it you understand, John Burleson ? "

" The whole thing. I see it now from beginning to end.
The little Yankee girl had just come to the Cross when our
bands began to close in on her. She hid in the pines, — proba
bly right there at the Forks, — and no doubt saw and heard
every thing that went on. By Gad ! she's a plucky little piece !
But how the deuce do you suppose she kept that horse still,
with a hundred horses all around her ? Gad ! it was close
quarters ! Then, as she is corning out, she stumbles on Mr.
Melville Gurney standing sentry over that devil's gang of
respectable murderers, shoots him before he has time to say
Jack Robinson, and comes sailing in here like a bird, on that
magnificent thorough-bred, overhauls Judge Denton's carriage,
and saves her father's life like a heroine, and a lady too, as
she is. Dang my buttons if I ain't ready to kiss the hem
of her garments even ! »Mel. Gurney, I'll be hanged if I
don't envy you the pleasure of being shot by such a splendid
plucky little girl ! D'ye know her '? Ever met her ? "

" Yes."

<k Of course. They say she knows almost as many people as
her father, who, by the way, Mel., is no slouch, either. I know
him, and like him too, if he is a carpet-bagger. I'm glad I
put in a good word for him last night. No doubt she heard
me. Mel. Gurney, I'm in luck for once. Give me that hat!
What am I going to do with it V Why, restore it to the owner,
make my peace with her pa and Judge Denton, and in the
fullness of time offer her my hand and heart."

" Pshaw ! " exclaimed Gurney.

" Pshaw V My dear friend, you seem smitten with a big
disgust all at once. Perhaps you would like to take my place ?
Remember you can't have all the good things. It's enough

THE "REB" VIEW OF IT. 259

for you to have her sling a lump of cold lead through your
carcass. Be thankful for what }TOU enjoy, and don't envy other
people their little pleasures."

" I wish you would stop fooling, and talk sense for a
moment, Burleson," said Gurney fretfully.

" Hear him now ! As if I had been doing any thing else !
By Gad ! the more sense I talk, the less I am appreciated.
Witness Jake Carver last night, and Mel. Gurney this morn
ing. I'm no spring-chicken; and, allowing me to be the judge,
I feel free to say that I have never listened to more sound and
convincing sense than flowed from these lips on those two occa
sions," responded Burleson.

" Are you in earnest V " asked Gurney.

" What, about the sense ? Entirely so. "

" No, about Miss Lily Servosse," said Gurney.

" And the proffer of my heart and hand ? " answered Burle
son. " No. Unfortunately, — don't you blow on me, and tell
that I ever used that word ; but in earnest truth I never came
nearer feeling it, — unfortunately, I say, I am, as you have
reason to know, under bonds to confer my precious personality
upon another, — a Miss Lily too, (thank Heaven for the name,
at least ! ) — and so must deny myself the distinguished privi
lege I for a moment dreamed of. No, I'm not in earnest
about that part of it."

"Well, I am," said Gurney emphatically.

"The devil you say!" exclaimed Burleson in surprise.
" You don't mean it ! "

" I will win and wed Lily Servosse, if I can," said Gurney
modestly.

" Well, / swear ! " exclaimed Burleson. " But do you know,
old fellow, I don't think you put that in the hypothetical with
out reason ? It's my notion you'll have a hard time of it,
even if you manage to pull through at all on that line.
Remember, old fellow, your family, position, and all that,
won't count a rush for you in this matter. These carpet
baggers don't care a continental cuss how many niggers your
ancestors had. Then your father is an especial antagonist of

260 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

Servosse ; and for yourself — all that 7 can see that you have
to put up is, that you went along with a crowd of respectable
gentlemen to kill her father, <i,nd would have done so, but for
her nerve : in fact, you can claim very justly that you would
have prevented her saving him, if she had not shot you, and
effected her escape."

" That is not so. Her father was not included in the decree,
and I had no reason to suppose he would be in company with
Denton," interrupted Gurney.

" Well, we will say on your way to roast — yes, by Heaven !
to roast alive — Judge Denton! Think of that, will you?
General Gurney's son, in the middle of the nineteenth century,
nay, almost in its last quarter, — in the blaze of American
freedom and civilization at all events, — goes out by night
to broil a neighbor, without even the cannibal's excuse of
hunger ! Bah ! that's a fine plea for a lover, isn't it ? "

"My God, Burleson ! " cried Gurney, jumping up. "You
don't think she'll look at it in that light, do you ? "

"Why not? Oughtn't any decent woman to do so, not to
say a carpet-bagger's daughter? I vow I shouldn't blame her
if she took another shot at you for your impudence ! "

" Nor I either, Burleson, that's a fact ! " said Gurney
musingly.

" Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Burleson. " I understand that
rabbit story now. You recognized Miss Lily ? "

" Of course," said Gurney simply.

" ' Of course,' it is, indeed ! " said Burleson. " I might have
known it would have taken more than one broken arm to
make Mel. Gurney let a rider run his guard unhurt. You
recognized her, and galloped after her to prevent suspicion,
and on the way invented that story about the rabbit, and your
pistol going off. By Gad ! it was a gallant thing, old fellow,
if we were on a heathen errand. Give me your hand, my boy !
It's not so bad, after all. Perhaps Miss Lily might make a
decent man of you in time; though we both ought to be
hanged, that's a fact ! "

" I never thought of it in that way, Burleson ; but it is horri
ble," said Gurney, with a shudder.

THE "REB" VIEW OF IT. 261

"Horrible? — it's hellish, Mel. Gurney! That's what it is!
If I were the Yankees, and had the power of the government,
I wouldn't see these things go on one hour. By Gad! I'm
ashamed of them as Americans ! When the war was going on
and we met them in battle, there was always one satisfaction,
whoever got " fanned out," — it was always our own folks that
did it, and one couldn't well help being proud of the job. I tell
you what, Mel., there's been many a time when I could hardly
tell which I was proudest of, — Yank, or Reb. There was
Gettysburg, now! You know I was in the artillery, and had
a better chance to see the ensemble of a battle than one in the
infantry line. We had been pouring a perfect hell of shot
upon the cemetery for an hour, when the charge was ordered,
and we ceased firing. We were black and grim, and almost
deaf with the continuous roar. I remember the sweat poured
down the sooty faces of my gun-mates, and I don't suppose
there was a dry rag about them. Some leaned on the smoking
piece, and some threw themselves on the ground ; but every one
kept his eyes riveted on that line of bright steel and dirty gray
which was sweeping up to the low wall that we had been salt
ing with fire so long. We thought they would go over it as
the sea breaches a sand-dike. But we were mistaken. Those
men who had hung to their ground through it all, sent their
plague of leaden death in our fellows' faces, and met them at
the point of the bayonet as coolly and stubbornly as if it were
but the opening of the ball, instead of its last gallopade. Bad
as I felt when our fellows fell back, I could have given three
cheers for those Yanks with a will. I thought then, that rf
the worst came, as I always believed it would, we could have
a genuine pride in our conquerors.

" And so I had, until this Ku-Klux business came up. I told
our fellows on the start, they would burn their fingers ; for I
could not forget that the men they were whipping and hanging
were the friends of those same Yankees, — the only friends they
had here too, — and I had no idea that such men would suffer
them to be abused at that rate. Some of the boys got the
notion, however, that 1 was afraid; and I went in just to show

262 A FOOrS ERRAND.

them I was not. For a time I looked every day for an earth
quake, and, when it didn't come, I felt an unutterable contempt
for the whole Yankee nation ; and damn me if I don't feel it
yet ! I really pity this man, Servosse ! He feels ashamed of
his people, and knows that even the white Republicans — poor
shotes as many of them are — despise the whining, canting
sycophancy which makes their Northern allies abandon help
less friends to powerful enemies. I tell you what, Mel. Gur-
ney, if we Southerners had come out> ahead, and had such
friends as these niggers and Union men, with now and then one
of our own kidney, scattered through the North, we would have
gone through hell-Jire before we would have deserted them in
this way ! "

"That is no justification to us, though," said Gurney, who
was now walking back and forth across the room, quite forget
ful of the pain of his arm.

" On the contrary, it makes it worse," said Burleson. " We
are advancing the power of a party to which we are devoted, it
is true ; but in so doing we are merely putting power in the
hands of its worst elements, against whom we shall have to
rebel sooner or later. The leaders in these cowardly raids —
such men as Jake Carver and a hundred more whom I could
name — will be our representatives, senators, legislators, judges,
and so forth, hereafter. It is the simple rule of human nature.
Leadership in any public movement is the sure pathway to
public honor. It has been so since the war. Look at the men
to whom we have given civic honors. How many of them
would have been heard of, but for their soldiering? In that
case, I don't complain of it. They were all brave men, though
some were great fools. But when it comes to preferring mid
night murderers and -brutal assassins for legislators and govern
ors and judges, and the like, simply because they were leaders
in crime, I swear, Mel. Gurney, it comes hard! Some time or
other we shall be sick and ashamed of it."

"I arn that now," said Gurney.

" No doubt ; especially since you have thought how Lily Ser
vosse must look at it. Now, I'll tell you what, Mel., I like

THE "REB" VIEW OF IT. 263

you, and I like Servosse's little girl too. I believe you can
get her, — after a while, you know, — if you've got pluck
enough to own up and reform, ' repent and be baptized,' you
know. And it will be a baptism to you : you can bet on that,
— a baptism of fire ! "

"You don't suppose I'd 'peach,' do you, John Burleson?"
said Gurney, turning indignantly towards his friend.

"Hell! You don't think I've turned fool, do you?" asked
Burleson, with equal indignation. " See here, Gurney, you and
I were boys together. Did you ever know me to do a mean
thing? "

" Never! "

" Well now, listen. I'm going to bolt this whole business.
I'm not going to tell on anybody else (you know I'd be drawn
.arid quartered first) ; but I'm going to own up my connection
with it, tell as much as I can, without implicating any one else,
and do my best to break it up. I never thought of just this
way of doing it before, and should not have hit on it now but
for your sake."

" For my sake? " asked Gurney in surprise.

" Yes, for your sake. Don't you see you will have to own up
in this way, before either father or daughter will look at you? "

"Well?"

"Well? I'll just go ahead and break the way, that's all."

" When will you begin ? "

"To-day — now!"

" How ? "

"I shall go down upon the street, and publish as much as I
well can of this raid, and try to laud the pluck of that young
lady about half as highly as it deserves. God bless her ! I
would like to kiss the place where she has set her foot, just to
show my appreciation of her! "

"Do you really think you had better venture upon such a
course ? It might be a very dangerous business," said Gurney.

" The very reason above all others why John Burleson should
undertake the job. Some one must do it, and it would not do
for vou to be the first. It's not often one has a chance to serve

264 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

his friend and do a patriotic duty at once. It's all ont now, in
fact. The guesses and rumors that are afloat are within an ace
of the facts. There may as well be some advantage gained
by that, as riot. I shall take the young lady her hat " —

" Let me do that, if you please," said Gurney anxiously.

"All right, if you think you can face the fire."

So down upon the street went John Burleson. The first
man whom he met ascending the steps of the hotel was Judge
Denton. Extending his hand cordially, he said in a voice that
all could hear, —

"Judge, I am ashamed to say I was in that hellish affair
last night. I did not know what it was till we got to the Cross,
nor did any of them but the Commanders. That made no dif
ference, though. We were in for it, and I do not doubt would
have carried it through, but for Miss Lily Servosse. She de
serves a statue, judge. I've no excuse to make. I'm not a
child, and was not deceived. Any time you want me, I'm
ready to plead guilty to any thing I've done. In any event,
this is the last raid I shall join, and the last that will be made,
if I can prevent it."

He stalked off, leaving the astonished judge to gaze after
him, and wonder if he had heard aright. Burleson repeated
the same language, with various addenda, to every group of
loungers he met on the street, so that in a quarter of an hour
the word had gone out that John Burleson had " gone back "
on the Ku-Klux. It spread like wildfire. He had occupied a
prominent place in the order, and it was known that he knew
many fatal secrets connected with it. It was telegraphed in
every direction, and went from man to man among the mem
bers of the Klan in a dozen counties where he was well known.
They knew that he could not be silenced by threats or bribes.
A great fear took hold of them when they heard it, and many
fled the county without further inquiry. The little town in
which they were was almost deserted in an hour. Perceiving
this effect, and thoroughly comprehending its cause, John Bur
leson approached Judge Denton and Colonel Servosse, and
said to them, —

THE "REB" VIEW OF IT. 265

" Gentlemen, the train will be here in an hour. I have no
right to advise with regard to your movements ; but you will
allow me to say that I think, after what occurred last night, that
the more prudent course would be for Judge Denton to return
with us to Verdenton, and then spend a few days at Warrington.
It will be only an exchange of hospitalities anyhow.

" On the contrary," said Denton, "I was just trying to per
suade Colonel Servosse to send for his wife, and make his visit,
despite our contretemps last night."

" It is quite impossible," said Servosse. " Lily says she
could never endure to cross that bridge; and, in her present
condition, I do not think she should be subjected to any un
necessary excitement."

" Certainly not ! " said Denton. " After her heroism of last
night, she is entitled to the gratification of her every wish."

"That being your feeling," said Servosse, " I am emboldened
to second Mr. Burleson's view by saying that it is my daughter's
especial desire that you should come home with us. She is
under a terrible apprehension in regard to the future, and es
pecially in reference to you, sir. She thinks, that, if you should
go off into the country there, you would be sure to be assassi
nated. She thinks there is far less danger, if we are together;
not only because there would be more hesitation in attacking
two, but because, being both men of some prominence, our
joint assassination would be more likely to attract the atten
tion, and awaken the resentment, of the government and the
people of the North, than our individual destruction. Indeed,
she has an idea that the very fact of my Northern birth — my
prominence as a 'carpet-bagger,' so to speak — is in itself a
sort of protection."

"And in that she is quite correct," said Burleson. "I have
wondered that it has not occurred to you gentlemen before, to
inquire why it is that so few Northern men of any standing or
position have been molested. It's not been from any kindly
feeling for them, I assure you ; but there has been a notion that
if such men as you — Northern men of some prominence —
were interfered with, it might stir up a hornet's nest that would

£66 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

make us trouble. This very fact is all that has saved more
than one man whom I could name."

"That is her very idea," said Servosse, "and there maybe
some truth in it. Certainly Mr. Burleson should know " he
added, with a meaning glance at Denton ; for the judge was too
suspicious, and the new fact was too unaccountable to allow
him yet to put full confidence in the professed change of that
gentleman. His suspicion was increased by the next remark
of Burleson.

" By the way," he said, " it never occurred to me before ; but
how on earth did Miss Lily get information of that raid ? I
don't reckon she was out riding your pet racing-horse at that
time of night just for fun ! "

" We do not feel at liberty to speak of that at this time,'
said Comfort seriously.

" All right ! " responded Burleson. " I only hope it is a hole
that will let light in upon the thing. I have always supposed
it would come, and have known, that, if one ever pipped the
shell, a thousand would try to be the first to get their heads out.
If the idea once goes out, Judge, that any one has given the
thing away, you will have your hands full taking confessions.
They will be full of horrors too, — more than you ever dreamed
of. You'll think you've tilted off the lid of the bottomless
pit, and that the devils are pouring out by brigades."

"Perhaps," said Denton, with a look of keen scrutiny, "you
could tell something yourself? "

" Whether I could or not," said Burleson, " is all the same.
You know me well enough, Judge, to know that I will not. tell
any thing which would compromise anybody else. I am will
ing to admit that I belonged to this organization, that I was
the chief of a county, because I think it is necessary that I
should do so in order to break it up ; but I do not intend to
confess myself into the penitentiary nor on to the gallows. Yet
I would go there sooner than to betray those who have trusted
their lives and honor with me. So far as I can go without such
betrayal, I am willing to act with you. That is one reason I
wish you to return to Verdenton : I want it clearly understood

THE "REB" VIEW OF IT. 267

that I have renounced the whole business. It is by no means
a safe proceeding1, and I may have to turn in with you, gentle
men, and fight for my life. If it comes to that, I propose to
make every edge cut, and, if I go down, I mean to have lots of
good company. I would like to have you go in order to be
convenient if the fight comes! "

Judge Denton yielded to these solicitations, and accom
panied his friends, first sending word to his family to follow
on the next day.

Before the train left, Melville Gurney sent a servant to
Colonel Servosse, asking a moment's interview. When Ser-
vosse came to his room, and, seeing his injury, asked the cause,
he betrayed himself by asking, —

" And has not your daughter told you, sir V "

"My God!" said Servosse, sinking into a chair, over
whelmed with amazement. " Was it you, Mr. Gurney ? Can
it be that the son of one who has known me so long as your
father, even though as an opponent, should have engaged in an
attempt on my life ? I could not have believed it."

lie covered his face with his hands, and shuddered as he
spoke.

"I assure you, Colonel Servosse," said Gurney, "I had no
idea that such was the purpose of the raid, nor, indeed, did I
know its purpose. I was well aware that it must be an unlaw
ful one, however, and can not blame you for the horror you
manifest. I am horrified myself, and am amazed that I could
ever have regarded it otherwise."

" I can not understand it, — I can not understand it," said
the carpet-bagger. " I always thought your father was an
honest, high-minded man, and a good citizen."

" And so he is, sir," said Gurney hotly. " There is none
better nor purer ! "

"And you," said Servosse, rising, and looking keenly <tt him,
— " you are a murderer ! "

"I suppose," answered Gurney, with some confusion, "that
I should have been, constructively at least, but for your
daughter's daring interference."

268 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"Nay, you were already," said Servosse severely. "You
had started out on an unlawful errand, and were ready to shed
blood, if need were, to accomplish it, — whether it were my
blood or another's it is immaterial to consider. That is almost
always the mental condition of the murderer. Murder is
usually a means, not an end."

" It is a hard word, Colonel Servosse; yet I do not know but
I must submit," said Gurney. "I wish to say, however, that
J did not engage in this at the wish or suggestion, nor with
the knowledge, of my father. Indeed, my greatest trouble
comes from the fact that I must inform him of the fact."

"Gad!" said Burleson, who had entered unperceived by
both, " you needn't trouble yourself so much about that. He
belongs to it himself."

" John Burleson ! " cried Gurney, springing to his feet.

"Oh, you needn't mind!" said Burleson. "Colonel Ser
vosse is too much of a gentleman to take advantage of such a
statement made by me at this time." He turned, and bowed
toward Servosse as he spoke.

" Certainly," said the latter. " I should not think of using
a private conversation."

"It is not that! " exclaimed Gurney, — "not that at all!
But it is false ! "

"H'st! Steady, my young friend!" said Burleson hotly.
"I happen to know whereof I speak. I was present, and
helped initiate him. Do you believe me now, Mel. Gurney V "

"Great heavens!" exclaimed Gurney. "I did not know
that ! I would not have believed it but upon your assurance."

" I declare," said the Fool, " I can not understand, — I can
not understand ! "

" Well," said Burleson, laughing, and taking Lily's hat from
the bed, "here is something you can understand, I reckon."

"My daughter's hat!" said Servosse in surprise, looking
from one to the other.

" For that matter," said Burleson bluffly, " I brought it here.
You see, when Miss Lily rode out of the pines last night, she
lost this; and so, when she charged on Gurney there, he

. THE "REB" VIEW OF IT. 269

recognized her, — for it was as light as day : our chaplain could
have seen to read the burial-service, — and, being a fellow
that has his wits about him, Gurney quietly jogged on behind,
her after she had shot him, with that broken arm flopping up
and down at every step, until he was sure she had got clean
off, when he came back with a cock-and-bull story about a
rabbit having scared his horse, and his pistol having gone off,
and busted that arm."

" Is that so? " asked Comfort in surprise.

" Lit-er-ally," said Burleson, with distinct enunciation.
" Not a man in that camp had any idea that a woman had
witnessed its proceedings, until we heard of your daughter
having interrupted your journey. Even then it was a mere
surmise, except with Gurney here."

"Then," said Servosse, extending his hand to Gurney, "it
seems I have to thank you for an intent to save my daughter."

"Indeed, sir," replied Gurney, "with that horse, she had
little need of my aid."

" Young Lollard is not easily matched," said Servosse, with
some pride. "But that does not detract from the merit of
your intention. I suppose," he added, smiling, and touching
the hat, " that you wish me to relieve you of this toy."

"On the contrary," said Gurney earnestly, "my request
for this interview was because I desired to ask your leave to
return it to the owner myself."

" Well, sir," said Servosse thoughtfully, " I do not see but
you have earned the right to do so. I will see if she can
receive you."

A few moments later, Melville Gurney, somewhat weak and
tremulous from the loss of blood and subsequent excitement,
came down stairs, leaning on the arm of his friend Burleson,
and was ushered into the parlor of the hotel, where Lily Ser
vosse leaned upon her father's arm. Pale and trembling, he
presented the hat with a low bow, and withdrew without a
word.

" Well, I swear! " said Burleson a minute after, " if I had
thought you would show the white feather just at the last, I
never would have seconded you ! "

270 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

Comfort Servosse never once dreamed that the trembling
creature clinging to his arm, and dropping tears upon the hat
as she brushed and picked at it, was any thing more than a
simple child. So he said, with an amused smile, —

" It's not even rumpled, is it, dear? "

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA."

THE train which brought Lily and her father, Judge Denton,
Buiieson, and Gurney to Verdenton, did not arrive unnoted.
The report of Lily's heroic ride, and of Burleson's defection
from the Klan, had preceded it; and a great crowd had col
lected, anxious for a sight of the brave girl who had courage
and wit enough to circumvent the Ku-Klux, and of the yet
braver man, who, having been one of their number, had yet
courage to denounce them.

What he would say, what he would do, there was the utmost
anxiety to know. For once no imputation was made upon the
motives of one who saw fit to stem the popular current. . Men
cursed and denounced him; but it was for what he had done,
or was supposed to have done, and not on account of the
motives which they believed to have animated him.

No one attributed either cowardice, ambition, or avaricious-
ness to John Burleson. He was known to have disapproved
from the first, at least of all the violent features of the organi
zation, and to have done not a little to prevent their being
carried into execution. He had been advanced to be the Chief
%of the County, both because of his known and acknowledged
capacity for organization and leadership, and also because this
very disinclination to promote unlawful acts had met the ap
proval of many of the more conservative members of the order.
As he had said, he went upon the raid which we have described

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA." 271

simply to accommodate a friend, who, being required to attend,
had afterward sickened. He was recognized as bold, gener
ous, and impulsive. He was one of the very few private soldiers
who survived the surrender of the Confederate armies. Enter
ing the service at the very outset of the war, he had never failed
to perform his full duty, and not seldom had done considerably
more; yet he had received no promotion, and, since the collapse
of the Rebellion, not a sign of any military title had attached
itself to his name. The man who should have saluted him as
" Captain" would probably have been whipped first, and invited
to drink afterwards, for his temerity. The reason of this was
twofold. In the first place, young Burleson, a man of unusu
ally broad and catholic feeling, and of varied personal experi
ence and wide observation, was as thoroughly convinced of the
hopelessness of the Confederate cause in the field of battle at
the outset of the war as at its close. This view he did not
hesitate to declare on all occasions; and, when reproved for so
doing by an upstart superior, he had the boldness and arrogance
to assure the official, that, if he knew half as much as himself,
he would desert to the Yankees in two days. Besides this, it
waited his humor to boast of his disinclination for a military
life. When offered promotion, he curtly declined it, on the
ground that he did not wish to do any thing that might remove
his dislike for the service.

Of course such a man, though he had been of the ripest
culture and most marked capacity, was only fitted for the
place of a private soldier; and so a soldier he remained, always
scornful of control, and utterly regardless of the Pharisaical
distinctions of rank, respected for his unshrinking bluntness,
and feared for his terrible directness of thought, and explicit-
ness of statement. He was perhaps the most dangerous man
who could have renounced his fealty to the Klan.

As he stepped upon the platform at Verdenton, a man whom
he knew to be a very prominent member of the Klan touched
him upon the shoulder, and said, with a meaning look towards
the rear of the train, —

" Let me see you a moment."

272 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" Oh, go to the devil ! " said Burleson, in a loud but good-
natured tone of voice. "I know what you want; and I had just
as lief tell you here as around the corner, or in the camp. I
am neither afraid nor ashamed. I am out of it, and opposed to
it root and branch. If any one has any thing he wants to say
or do about it, he knows where to find John Burleson.

"Judge Denton ! " he cried in the same tone, as that gentle
man appeared on the platform, " these people are my Ku-Klux
friends and neighbors, who have come to see if John Burleson
has the pluck to renounce what he was a fool for engaging in,
and knew himself to be such at the time. They don't look like
Ku-Klux, do they? But they are — nearly every man you can
see. I don't believe there are a dozen white men on this plat
form whom I don't know to be such, and have not seen in their
meetings more than once. They are most of them church-
members, and all of them respectable. You ought to see them
with their gowns and masks on! they look savage enough then.
You know a good many of them, Judge, and will get acquainted
with them all if Justice ever gets her dues. There's right
smart of men here who to my knowledge deserve a hanging."

Such language as this increased the consternation which
already prevailed ; and, before it wras ended, nearly every white
man had left the platform, and only a crowd of wondering
colored men remained to grin applause to his concluding re
marks. He knew that he had thrown a bomb, but he was not
ignorant that its explosion might endanger himself. He knew
very thoroughly the temper of the people whom he had been
addressing, and did not under-estimate his own danger. So
when he had bidden good-by to Gurney, who went on to his
home, he went and assisted his other fellow-travelers to enter
their carriage. Then he took the Fool aside, and said in a
low voice, —

" Colonel Servosse, I dislike to ask a favor of you ; but it
may be that I shall be able to render you a like service before
long. You know what has occurred. If I remain here to
night, the probabilities are that I shall not be troubled about
getting up in the morning. I wish you would invite me to

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA." 273

Warrington for a day or two. I do not think you will be at
tacked there. If you should, you would not find me entirely
useless in the defense. I think we three would make a bad
crowd for any force to attack. In a short time we can tell
what will be the result. Either they will cry for mercy, or we
must fight. I don't know which it will be as yet."

" Certainly, certainly, Mr. Burleson!" said Servosse heartily.
" I have been studying for the last hour, as to whether I ought
not to invite both you and your friend."

" Oh, he is all right !" said Burleson lightly. "He is not
tainted with my offense. No one regards him now except as
the poor fellow who had the good fortune to be shot by your
daughter."

" The fact is," said Servosse apologetically, " I have become
so suspicious since I have been a 'carpet-bagger,' that I am
never quite sure whether it is expected or desired that I should
either tender or receive hospitality as a matter of course.
Besides that, you will permit me to confess that I was by no
means sure that you were in earnest until within the last few
minutes. Of course we shall be glad to have you at Warring-
ton, and hope you may find it both safe and agreeable there,
though I confess I share your apprehensions."

It was a very thoughtful company which drove to Warring-
ton that evening. Metta, writh the overwrought Lily in her
arms, listened, with overflowing eyes and irrepressible sobs, to
the girl's broken recital of that adventure which had been
so perilous to her, and so providential to her father and one of
their guests, - whose hearts were of course deeply affected at
the thought of the barbarous death they had escaped. The
other guest, realizing even more clearly than they both what
they had escaped and what still impended, was deeply con
cerned lest he had added to the peril of those with whom he
had sought shelter.

A few colored people had collected at the depot, anxious to
welcome those in whom they took so deep an interest, after the
great peril they had escaped. A few of them had spoken to
th« Fool; and all had manifested a sense of the utmost satis-

274 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

faction, both at their arrival and at what had transpired at the
station, but made no clamorous demonstrations of joy. Hardly
had they started for home, however, than it became evident
that the excitement extended to all classes of society. From
almost every house along the road they saw white faces peering
at them with troubled and apprehensive looks, while the cabin
of every colored man gave them looks and words of cheerful
greeting ; and, long before they reached Warrington, it became
evident that the negroes were hastening from all directions to
meet Servosse. Arrived in the neighborhood of his home,
the Fool found that the news of his coming had gone before,
as well as the report in regard to Burleson's defection from
the Klan ; and a great crowd of colored people, as well as
many of their white political associates, had gathered to con
gratulate them on their escape, and to make inquiry as to the
other report.

It was a most cordial welcome which the Fool and his brave
daughter received from these neighbors ; and the presence of
Judge Denton and Mr. Burleson fully confirmed the rumor in
regard to the latter. Several parties who seemed ill at ease
with the company which had gathered on the lawn were
cordially greeted by Burleson in his loud, careless manner ;
but they were rendered still more uncomfortable by this, and
soon slunk away, one by one, and left only the constantly
increasing crowd of colored men and friendly neighbors, whose
gratulations could not find sufficient words.

As night came on, it became evident that these good friends,
apprehensive of an attack from the Klan, had determined to
stand guard about the Fool's house. This was deemed unad-
visable ; and, after thanking them again for their sympathy,
he requested them to disperse, saying that ample precautions
had been taken to secure the safety of Warrington, and nam
ing a number of their most devoted white friends who would
sleep there that night. So with cheers, and overflowing wishes
for their peace and happiness, the colored people dispersed,
and an eventful night settled down upon Warrington.

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA." 275

It was a little after dark, and while the company at War-
rington were seated at supper, that a man rode up to the gate,
who, after the customary hail had been answered by a servant,
made some cautious inquiries as to who was within, and then
asked to see Mr. Eyebright, a prominent Union man of the
neighborhood. On being informed that he was at supper, he
finally consented, not without considerable hesitation and evi
dent doubt, to enter and take a seat in the Fool's library,
enjoining again and again upon the servant that only he whom
he had inquired for should be informed of his presence.

Mr. Eyebright was a portly, well-to-do planter, whose bluff
and hearty manliness gave everybody the utmost confidence in
his sincerity and kindliness. He had been noted for his un
sparing denunciations of the Klan at all times and in all
places. To hear him lavish curses upon them as he filled his
pipe, or puffed at the long reed stem before a glowing fire,
a stranger would have imagined that nothing would have
afforded him more intense and unadulterated satisfaction than
the utter destruction of the Klan, and the incineration of each
and every one of its individual members, unless he should
note the twinkle in his soft, lazy-rolling brown eye, or mark
the lurking smiles that passed over his rotund countenance,
or hid away at the corners of his wide, mobile mouth. At
home he was known as the gruffest and kindliest of neighbors;
abroad he was accounted one of the most sanguinary and
revengeful of the degraded Radicals. A noticeable birth
mark had given him a ludicrous nickname, which had con
tributed not a little to confer upon one of the kindliest a ad
most peaceful of men a reputation for blood-thirstiness and
savagery almost equal to that of the original Blue-beard. This
quaint and humorous giant, with his assumed ferocity, abun
dance of unmeaning oaths, and real goodness of heart, was
a special favorite of the Fool, whose devotedness he heartily
returned. He had insisted upon staying as one of the sort of
guard of honor that night, upon the ground that he would be
of the utmost value in case of an attack, which was very true ;
but the Fool knew very well that the prospect of a jolly night

276 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

beside the smoldering fire in the library, with abundance of
good company, and now and then a sup of good peach-brandy,
made at his own still, and softened with honey, interspersed
with pipes and politics, and stories of "the good old time when
we had a country," had far more attractions for his fat friend
than a night of actual guard-duty.

As they filed out of the dining-room, Eyebright laid one
ponderous arm on the Fool's shoulder, and, extending the other
over his own expansive person, remarked, —

" After such a supper as that, Colonel, one could not help
enjoying a smoke."

Servosse merely answered with a low chuckle, to which
J^vebright responded, —

"I know what you mean, you rascal ! You think I just staid
here to-night to have a good time. Suppose I did, now. It's
not often we poor devils can get a dozen good fellows together,
and I am for making the most of the opportunity, i tell you,
you don't know how hungry I get sometimes to hear somebody
else talk sense beside myself [with a laugh] ! There's Judge
Denton, I'm going to pull him out to-night. They say he's
just about the best company in the State — that is, they used
to say so before he became one of us 'scalawags.' I s'pose
that's had a bad effect on him, as well as the rest of us.
There's that Burleson : I like him. He'd be a good fellow if
he hadn't been a Ku-Klux. Cussed if I can ever get over
that ! Oh, don't tell me he's out of it now, and all that ! It's
like sheep-killing in a dog: once they've learned how, they
never forget. I wouldn't sleep in the same room with him for
the State! I wouldn't, I swear! I should expect to wake up
with my throat cut, at the very least."

"Hush ! He'll hear you," said Servosse.

"Oh, that's nothing!" responded Eyebright. "I've bee*,
trying to devil him all the evening. He asked me at supper —
you were serving the meat, and didn't hear it — if I didn't
think Judge Denton and himself represented the lion and the
lamb very well. I told him I'd never heard before of a lion
that took his lamb roasted."

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA." 277

Just then the servant who had waited on the door touched
him, and whispered in his ear.

" Wants to see me, you say, Jim ? " he asked in surprise.
" What does the damn Ku-Klux want of me, Jim ? "

" Dimno, sah," answered Jirn. " Sed he want ter see you
mighty pertiekeler."

" He didn't say what about ? "

" No, sah."

"Well, give me a light," said he, feeling in one pocket after
another for his pipe, " and let me go and see what 'tis, and send
him off. We don't want no such cattle around here to-night,
Jim. Heh? Where is he?"

"In de libery, sah."

So, puffing his long reed pipe, Eyebright rolled down the
steps of the porch, and across the intervening space to the de
tached wooden building which served as the Fool's office and
library. Pushing the door open with his stick, he ascended the
steps and entered, exclaiming, as the door swung together be
hind him, —

" Hello, Kirkwood, is this you ? What the devil are you
doing here ? "

The rest>of the company drifted into the spacious sitting-
room, and for half an hour Eyebright and his visitor were
forgotten. At the end of that time his rotund face appeared
at the door, and he hastily motioned to the Fool to come out
into the hall. As soon as he came, and the sitting-room door
was shut, Eyebright caught his hand, and said, in tones trem
bling with excitement, —

" Colonel, I'll be damned if the bottom hasn't fallen out at
last ! Don't ask me any questions. Bring Judge Denton over
to the office. Quick ! Don't let on that any thing is up ! I
daren't show my head in there: everybody would know some
thing was wrong. But you Yankees — you could keep your
faces straight if the world was coming to an end! "

The Fool did as requested; and, upon their entering the
office, was surprised to find there a young man of good family
in the neighborhood, whom Mr. Eyebright introduced to the
judge as Ralph Kirkwood.

278 A FOODS ERRAND.

"He says he's got something to say to you, Mr. Denton,
which, judging from what he's told me, will be of interest to a
good many."

Eyebright spoke with a great effort at self-restraint.

" Yes," said Kirkwood absently : " there's a thing on my
mind I've wanted to get off it for a long time."

" I will hear any thing you have to say, Mr. Kirkwood," said
the judge with some formality; "but I must warn you that
any thing you say must be purely voluntary, and is given with
out threat or promise. I can not hear it otherwise."

" So Mr. Eyebright said," responded Kirkwood, without look
ing up.

"And I must further advise you," remarked the judge,
" that any thing you may say here may be used against you
upon trial for any crime."

"It makes no difference," said Kirkwood after a moment.
" I can not keep still any longer. I haven't had a good night's
rest since it occurred. I went to Texas, and it followed me
there. I came home, and it came with me. It's been with
me all the time, and given me no rest, night nor day. I can
see him now just as plain as I saw him that night! "

" See who ? " asked the judge in surprise.

. "Jerry Hunt," responded Kirkwood, in the same matter-of-
fact, even tone, and without looking- up from the smoldering
fire in the grate on which his gaze had all the time rested.

If he could have seen the look of horror and amazement
which his auditors exchanged, it would perhaps have surprised
him almost as much as his declaration did them. Surrounded
year after year by this terrible organization, whose secret blows
had fallen upon every side, with no tangible clew to their
source, there had grown up in the minds of these men a con
viction that there would some time come a day when confi
dence would be lost between the perpetrators of these crimes,
and they would turn upon each other, and confess their evil
deeds. They thought, that, when that time did come, there
would be a race to be among the first to confess. It is true
there had been before some defections from this body, who

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA." 279

had disclosed something, in a general way, of its workings,
but nothing of any importance. Indeed, their disclosures had
been regarded with more of ridicule than respect, because of
the conspicuous ignorance which they manifested of what
they pretended to disclose. They were usually attended, too,
with some circumstance of suspicion antecedently or subse
quently occurring, which had destroyed almost all confidence
in their verity, or the good faith of the parties making them.
That they should at this peculiar moment be confronted with
the prospect of a revelation of one of the most noted of its
crimes may well have startled them from their composure.
Servosse remembered Eyebright's declaration, "The bottom
has fallen out at last ! "

" What do you know about Jerry Hunt ? " asked the judge,
as soon as he could master his emotion.

" I know a heap about his death," said Kirk wood, with a
sigh, — "a heap more'n I wish I did."

"Is it that you wish to tell me about? "

"Yes, — that for one thing."

"Well," said the judge, "this thing must be done deliber^
ately and in order. You remember my caution. — Colonel
Servosse, will you take a pen, and write down what Mr.
Kirkwood says. — Please lock the door, Mr. Eyebright, so that
we may not be interrupted."

Eyebright did as directed. Servosse placed himself at a
table with writing-materials before him; and the judge con
tinued, —

" Now, Mr. Kirkwood, we will hear any thing you have to
say. Speak slowly, so that it may be written down. Take
your own course and your own time."

" Well," said Kirkwood, " I suppose you want to know it all.
1 was a student here at Verdenton in the year 18 — . I be
longed to the Klan, — almost all the boys in the school did.
I belonged to Camp No. 4, which met at Martin's most of
the time. The sheriff, Colonel Abert, was a member, and
was one of the officers. I think he was what they call a
South Commander. My uncle was one of the officers too.

280 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

We were all sworn to obey orders. The oath was very strong^
and we were all sworn to kill anybody who did not obey, or
who revealed any of the secrets of the order. I was at Mr.
Hoyt's school — had been there better than a year: I was pre
paring for the ministry then. I had been on two or three
raids when people were whipped, and never thought much
about it : in fact, it seemed right good fun, riding round in
disguise at night, frightening niggers, and white folks too
sometimes. I didn't think much about whether it was right
or not. There were plenty of old men in it who decided all
such things, and men that I had always been accustomed to
think well of : so I supposed it was all right.

" One day my uncle came in and brought my horse. He
put him in Mr. Crather's barn. Then he came to me, -and
told me that Camp No. 4 had got a decree from a Rockford
camp to make a raid in Yerdenton. You know that is the
way they do. A camp hardly ever executes its own decree.
They send it to another camp, or two or three others ; and the
camps that get it have to detail men to execute it. He said
our camp would send a squad which would meet another squad
from Camp No. 9, at the forks of the road near the Widow
Foster's; and I was ordered to meet them, and act as guide
for them, as I was well acquainted about Verdenton. He
asked me if I knew where about half a dozen white men and
about as many of the leading niggers lived. I told him I did.
He said my disguise was in my saddle-bags on the colt. I was
to meet the raid just above the Widow Foster's at nine o'clock.

" I thought it was all right; and, when the hour came, I rode
out to the Widow Foster's, and met our folks. Pretty soon
afterward the party came from No. 9. The East Commander
of that camp was among them, and he took charge. His name
is Watson. He's here in the county yet. We went into an old
pine field opposite the Widow Foster's, and put on our dis
guises. We had just been in our own clothes before.

" Then Watson took command, and organized the raid very
strictly. He asked me if I knew Jerry Hunt's house. I told
him I did. He said that was the man they wanted. Then he

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA." 281

said that they had a decree from the Rockford Camp to visit
the extreme penalty (that meant kill, always) on Jerry Hunt,
but nothing was said as to how : so he left that to the camp
then. It was voted that it should be by hanging. I don't
reckon anybody voted against it.

"Then we started on. I rode beside Mr. Watson, in the lead.
When we came near the colored village west of the town, he
ordered out pickets to stop on every corner, and some patrol-
lers to ride up and down the streets, and prevent any inter
ruption. They had orders to shoot anybody that gave the
alarm, or interfered with them at all. Then we went to Jerry
Hunt's house; and Mr. Watson tried the door, and it wasn't
even locked. He opened it, and thought at first there was
nobody there. Then we went in ; and Watson struck a match,
and there was Uncle Jerry, laying there on the bed, sleeping
as quiet and peaceful as a child. We waked him up, took
the bed-cord out of the bed. and tied him on to the horse next
to the one I rode. He never said nothing after we waked him
up, only, * Lord Jesus, have mercy ! ' ' Father, forgive 'em ! '
and ' Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly ! ' At least, I didn't
understand any thing more. He was praying all the way in,
and never offered any resistance at all.

" When we got in there, they rode down by the trees nigh
the Court- House. I had been feeling mighty bad all the way;
and when they halted, and began to make preparations, I rode
out towards the Court-House, so as not to see any thing more."

He stopped abruptly.

" Well, did you see any thing more? "

"Yes," he responded with a sigh. "I couldn't help looking
around after a while; and, just as I did so, some one drew a
match, and held it up, and I saw the face of Uncle Jerry as he
hung there on the limb. I've been seeing it ever since, gentle*
men."

" Did you recognize any of the men ? " said the judge.

"Must I answer that? " asked Kirkwood.

"Just as you choose," said the judge coolly. "You have
already confessed enough for your own conviction."

282 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" Of course," said Kirkwood thoughtfully. " And they got
me into this trouble, and thousands of other good young men
too. I'm going to make a clean breast of it, gentlemen, and
tell all I know. My conscience would not be any easier, if I
screened these men, than it is now. Yes, I recognized a good
many."

Then he named, some forty men whom he could remember
having seen, and said he had nothing more to say about it.
What he had said was read over to him, and signed by him.

"I shall have to hold you to answer a charge of murder,
Mr. Kirkwood," said the judge, with a choked voice.

"I suppose so," said Kirkwood. "And I'm guilty: I don't
deny the fact. But I shall sleep quiet to-night, which is what
I haven't done before since that night. I've only one request
to make, Judge."

"What is that?"

"Don't send me to the jail in Verdenton. I don't want to
dodge or run, — 'twouldn't do any good to do so now, — but,
you know, if I were put in that jail now, I'd be hanging on the
same limb they hung Jerry Hunt on, before two days were
over."

It was arranged that he should be held in custody without
being sent to jail at that time. And then the three over
wrought men turned to each other, and clasped hands solemnly,
with the full conviction that "the bottom had indeed fallen
out," and that thereafter it might be said of that section, that
"the nights are wholesome."

There had been many knocks at the door in the mean time.
It was now opened, and their friends who crowded in were
briefly informed of the facts. Servosse slipped away into the
house, and informed his wife and daughter.

But the night was not yet ended. By some strange intuition,
these facts seemed to have transpired almost before they had
taken place. Others came to confess other crimes, and to
confirm the confession of young Kirkwood. Hour by hour
evidence accumulated, until, that very night, all the ramifica
tions of the Klan in that county, and much in adjacent ones,

"AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEAS' 283

were laid bare before the magistrate. It was a strange scene
indeed ; and the party who had assembled at Warrington in
expectation of a night of vigil were kept awake by excite
ment, surprise, and gratitude at the marvelous turn of affairs.

Thomas Denton was one of those men who believed that
crime should be punished, not from resentment toward the
offenders, but for what he deemed the safety of others, and
especially the well-being of future generations. He therefore
began the next day to issue the proper processes of law, and
pushed with vigor the prosecutions, sitting day by day as a com
mitting magistrate, taking the confessions of hundreds whose
awakened fears laid bare the hidden mechanism of thousands
of acts of violence. Those whose confessions related to the most
trivial and unimportant of the personal outrages were released
upon their own recognizances merely, or were dismissed with a
sharp rebuke. Those guilty of more serious crimes were
bound as witnesses. Many arrests were made, and a univer
sal reign of terror of the law seemed impending among those
who had so recently terrorized others. Already the line of
examination was threatening hundreds who had been unsus
pected, and had involved other hundreds who were deemed
equally immaculate.

No one was more astounded or distressed at the revelations
made than the Fool. He could not understand how men of the
highest Christian character, of the most exalted probity, and of
the keenest sense of honor, could be the perpetrators, encour-
agers, or excusers of such acts. He thought that the churches
ought to be hung in black, that the pulpit should resound with
warning, and the press teem with angry denunciation. He
could not understand how the one should be silent, and the
other should palliate or excuse. Of excuse or palliation he did
not deem that there could be any thing worthy of consideration.
The suggestion that it was personal hostility, or a semi-public
animosity against individuals, which animated these acts of
violence, he deemed unworthy of a moment's thought, for three
reasons, — because it was negatived by the purpose and scope of

284 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

the organization, because it was denied by all the confessions
of repentant members, and because the victims were uniformly
of one mode of political thought, or had specific relations which
placed them in antagonism with the purposes of the organi
zation.

Yet the pulpit kept silent, and the press excused. The Fool
knew not what to think. There were hundreds of these men
whom he knew well, and esteemed highly. Were they deliber
ately savage and vicious, or was he in error? Was there any
absolute standard of right, or were religion and morality merely
relative and incidental terms'? Was that right in Georgia
which was wrong in Maine? Were those ideas of liberty and of
universal right, in which he had been reared, eternal principles,
or merely convictions, — impulses of the moment? He could
not tell. He began to doubt even his own experience and
reason.

Never was the horror which attended this secret organization
so fully realized. Even those who had suffered most were
moved to pity. Now that the law, stern and inexorable, was
about to lay its hand upon them, the cry for charity and mercy
came up from every corner. The beauty of peace and recon
ciliation was heralded throughout the land.

Fortunately, the Legislatures of the several States were in
session, and most of them passed immediately an act of
amnesty and pardon for all who had committed acts of violence
in disguise, or at the instigation of any secret organization;
and in the excess of their zeal, and lest it should be supposed
that they desired to screen only their friends, they extended
their mantle of forgiveness so as to cover apparently the inno
cent as well as the guilty ; those who sought no pardon, as
well as the kneeling suppliants. In short, they pardoned not
only the perpetrators of these outrages, but, in a reckless de
termination to forgive, they even pardoned the victims! In this
act of wholesale forgiveness they included not only the mem
bers of the "Ku-Klux Klan," the "Invisible Empire," the
" Constitutional Union Guards," and other organizations which
had constituted orders or degrees of the Klan, but also the

"LIGHT SHINETH IN DARKNESS." 285

members of the " Union Leagues," " Red Strings," and other
secret societies, for all acts done in pursuance of the counsels
of such societies. . Strangely enough these societies were not
known to have counseled any unlawful acts ; but these legis
lators were bound to show that " the quality of mercy is not
strained."

They took care, however, not to pardon any, even the least,
infraction of the law, or assumption of power, committed by
the Executive, or any one in authority, for the purpose and with
the intent of repressing and punishing such acts, or protect
ing the helpless victims therof. There are some things which
can not be forgiven, even in an era of '* reconciliation " !

So the Ku-Klux was buried ; and such is the influence ot
peace and good-will, when united with amnesty and pardon,
that in a twelvemonth it was forgotten, and he who chanced
to refer to so old and exploded a joke was greeted with the
laughter-provoking cry of the "bloody shirt."

CHAPTER XXXIX.
"LIGHT SHINETH IN DARKNESS."

WELL, time went on ; and, twelve years from the day when
Lee surrendered under the apple-tree at Appomattox, there was
another surrender, and the last of the governments organized
under the policy of reconstruction fell into the hands of those
who had inaugurated and carried on war against the Nation ;
who had openly opposed the theory of reconstruction, had per
sistently denied its legality or the binding nature of its prom
ises, and had finally, with secret, organized violence, suppressed
and neutralized the element on which it had depended for sup
port. It- was true, that, in form and letter, the laws of that
period remained: in spirit and in substance they were abro-

286 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

gated. Yet the Nation looked on without wonder or alarm,
and by its executive head testified a somewhat more than tacit
approval of the result.

That those governments should fail was no matter of sur
prise to the Fool. He had anticipated and foretold failure
from the first. He had always believed that they were pre-
natally infected with the seeds of fatal disease. He had looked
for them to disappear. Their dissolution, and the resumption
of some other relation to the government, would hardly have
surprised him. He was ready to acknowledge that the rule of
majorities, when majorities are composed of the weak, illiterate,
and poor, is not likely to be successful. All that was involved
in the failure of practical reconstruction he was ready to admit,
and willing to see the steps taken in error retraced. For a
time, however, he was staggered to note what an utter reversal
of the decision made upon the field of battle had been effected.

Then he began to study the matter more in the aggregate,
and found that he had hitherto been blinded by details. The
object-plate on which he gazed had been too near the retina to
be clearly pictured thereon. He reviewed the course of events
from ante helium times ; and what he now saw was this : —

First, A people proud, brave, and fond of self-laudation, who
had been joined in formal union with a people less showy, but
more thrifty ; less boastful, but more resolute ; less self-asser
tive, but more industrious. In this union the former had ruled,
until the right to dominate had seemed almost inherent; and
finally, when their wi.'l was thwarted by an aroused majority,
earnestly believing themselves to be oppressed beyond endur
ance, they flew to arms, and contested with marvelous courage
and tenacity for the right to sever the compact which bound
them to the other. Failing in this, they were at the will of the
conqueror; to which they submitted sullenly, but silently, not
deeming it a matter of right, not enforced by any sense of
duty or obligation of honor, but simply yielding because they
had been conquered, and were compelled to submit.

Second, Among the terms prescribed for this subjugated
people was one condition which required that a lately servile

"LIGHT SHINETH IN DARKNESS." 287

race dwelling among them — which was of necessity not only
servile, but poor and ignorant — should be admitted to an equal
share and voice in the government with themselves. This
race, as it chanced, was earnestly and devoutly regarded by
them as inherently and unutterably inferior and degraded, so
that even its generic name had become an epithet of scorn and
contempt. Until the hour of their subjugation, this inferior
race had not been regarded by them or the nation as worthy of
possessing any inherent rights. The law had regarded them
as mere chattels ; and it had passed into a proverb in the nation,
that they had "no rights which white men were bound to
respect." To buy, to sell, to task, to whip, to mayhem this
race at will, had been from immemorial days a right which the
now subjugated people had claimed and exercised, and which
had been conceded and admitted in their previous union with
their conquerors. It had also been a part of their religious
belief, and had been taught from their pulpits, together with
other trnths which they deemed sacred, that this inferior race
was divinely created and ordained to be subject and subor
dinate to their white fellow-creatures, so that any attempt to
change their relations was looked upon as a subversion of the
divine will.

Third, This elevation of a race regarded as such inferiors,
marked by a distinctive color which of itself had become a
badge of shame and infamy, to be co-ordinate in power with
that people who had but lately dominated the nation, and had
then given four years of inconceivable suffering and blood and
toil for the right to keep them in slavery, which they deemed
to have been imperiled by their confederates in the govern
ment, was, very naturally, most exasperating and humiliating
to the conquered people. They deemed it a blow in the face,
given in the mere wantonness of power, and for the sole purpose
of revenge. To them it was an act intended and designed to
humiliate and degrade them, simply because, in the conflict of
arms to which they had appealed, they had been unsuccessful.
They thought it a gratuitous and needless affront to a brave and
unfortunate foe, and their resentment burned hotly against an
enemy who could do an act of such dastardly malice.

288 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

Yet, after it was imposed, they seemed without remedy.
They were subject, broken, scattered. An appeal to arms was
hopeless. The power which had but recently forced them to
submission was still more potent and compact than when the
battle was joined before. Its armies in considerable force were
scattered over the subject territory, and those which had been
disbanded needed but one blast of the trumpet to fall again
into line; while those of the subject people were hopelessly
shattered and disheartened, their armaments gone, and the
power and opportunity to organize and concentrate impossible
to be obtained.

However, such was the indomitable spirit of this people, that
they scorned to yield or submit to what they deemed oppression.
They denounced with unparalleled temerity these terms of
restoration as unjust and infamous, and openly declared that
they would obey and regard the laws and acts passed and done
in pursuance thereof, in so far as it was absolutely impossible
for them to avoid doing otherwise — and no farther. They
gave full and fair notice that they would resist, evade, nullify,
and destroy these laws and the work done under them, as soon
as opportunity should occur so to do, in any manner that might
offer. It was a defiance openly and fairly given ; and to the
redemption of this challenge was plighted the honor of a people
even more scrupulous of their collective than of their indi
vidual rights, exasperated by defeat, and aroused by a sense of
unparalleled and unpardonable wrong and oppression.

The Fool saw them resisting bravely every step leading to
the adoption of this plan, protesting with indignation, denoun
cing with rage, and finally submitting almost with tears. No
conquered foe ever passed under the yoke which they conceived
to mean servitude and infamy to them, with more unwilling
step, or with more deeply muttered curses. He saw men and
women afflicted with the keenest sense of personal humiliation
because of their enforced submission to the power of a people
they had always deemed their inferiors, — the traditional foe of
the South, the " groveling and greedy Yankee," — and then still
further degraded by being placed on a level, in legal and po'

"LIGHT SHINETH IN DARKNESS." 289

power and privilege, with a race despised beyond the
l^-\w of language to express, whom they had always accounted
too ij>w and mean even for contempt, — mere ethnological
ciphers, who had no power, except when acting in conjunction
with some significant figure in the notation of human races.

Moreover, — and this is the vital point, — he saw them, while
thus bowing beneath the scourge of shame, early apprehending
the weak point in their enemy's coat of mail, and steadily ad
dressing tLsmselves to planting therein a fatal stroke. They
could not fight, and thus avenge the affront that had been put
upon them; but by infinite patience, matchless organization,
unremitting and universal zeal, they could surely foil the de
sign of their Joe. Nay, more, they could turn against that
enemy the weapon by which he had sought to secure their
degradation, and by means of it, perhaps, accomplish a like
degradation of their oppressor. It was a daring conception for
a conquered people. Only a race of warlike instincts and
regal pride could have conceived or executed it.

To accomplish this end, the most unshrinking and universal
courage, united with a sleepless caution, was required on the
part of every individual member of this class, besides the most
unswerving confidence in each and every one of his fellows.
Men, women, and children must have and be worthy of implicit
mutual trust. Having eyes, they must see not; and, having
ears, they must hear not. They must be trusted with the secrets
of life and death without reserve and without distrust. The
whole South must be fused and welded into one homogeneous
mass, having one common thought, one imperial purpose, one
relentless will. It was a magnificent conception, and, in a
sense, deserved success 1

It differed from all other attempts at revolution — for revo
lution it was in effect — in the caution and skill with which
it required to be conducted. It was a movement made in the
face of the enemy, and an enemy, too, of overwhelming
strength. It must be concealed and disguised from that ene
my, or its success would not only be imperiled, but absolutely
and irretrievably destroyed. Tf the North had seen and realized

290 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

any thing of the true nature of this movement at the outset^
the power of the nation would have crushed it in its incipiency.
To overawe and suppress the Union, Federal, or Reconstruct
tionary element of the South, was of itself an undertaking of
no difficulty whatever to the trained leaders of that section,
with an exasperated soldiery and an unconquerable people at
their backs, whose confidence in their wisdom and loyal devo
tion to their rights was yet unshaken, and to whom they were
all the dearer by reason of the misfortunes they had already
endured; but to do this without awakening the suspicions and
fears of the North until the result was an accomplished fact,
was a task requiring infinite skill, patience, and courage for its
accomplishment. Should it succeed, it would be the most bril
liant revolution ever accomplished. Should it fail — well, those
who engaged in it felt that they had nothing more to lose.
When the war ended, they had proudly said, " All is lost but
honor ; " but, when the reconstruction measures came, they felt
themselves covered with shame, degraded in the eyes of the
world; not by their own acts, — of them, indeed, they were
proud, — but by what had been done unto them. They felt
like one who has been assaulted by a scavenger.

The Fool deemed it likely that actual violence was not at
first intended. It was probably believed that mere intimi
dation, the appeal to superstitious fears and the threat of
corporeal punishment, would have the effect thoroughly to
demoralize and disintegrate the colored vote, and leave the
white minority powerless. When, from the unexpected man
hood of the recent slaves and the long-suffering " Unioners," it
was found that this result would not follow" a mere display of
force and the assumption of ghostly habiliments, some degree
of violence followed as an almost necessary consequence. The
pride of a haughty people, the resentment of one that deemed
itself bitterly wronged, and the ambition of those greedy for
power, were all staked on the issue of the struggle. The battle
had already been joined; and it would have been not only fatal,
but ignominious, to have turned back.

After this review, the Fool could well see how slight a thing

"LIGHT SHINETH IN DARKNESS." 291

in comparison was the mere question of the political rights of
those whom the Southerners considered as legally without
political right, and morally and intellectually incapable of exer
cising such rights. He could see, too, that the maltreatment
of these men over whom they had been accustomed to exercise
the right of castigation, and, indirectly at least, of life and
limb, at pleasure, should not produce in their minds the same
feeling of repulsion and horror that it would evoke from the
" exaggerated " humanitarianism of the North, as well as that
which may still be considered genuine and wholesome. He
could perceive, too, that an especial resentment very naturally
existed in the minds of this people against all those persons
of the white race who aided, abetted, encouraged, organized,
and directed the colored voters in the assertion of political right
and the exercise of political power.

The means which had been instituted and pursued for the
protection of slavery, and which had approved themselves as
effective for that purpose, had especially cultivated that spirit
which countenances the forcible suppression of unpopular ideas,
which at the North was called " intolerance," and at the South
"self-preservation." So that he could well understand how it
should be considered a very slight and venial offense to beat,
wound, and ill-treat one of the recently servile race, and by no
means a serious thing, from a moral stand-point, to kill them
if necessary to attain their purpose. He could understand, too,
how they should consider it only a "species of wild justice"
to suppress or destroy those who were active in rendering this
newly created political power effective as against its former
owners. He began to see that the hostility against men of
Northern birth was not entirely because of their nativity, but
because they were regarded as, in a sense, public enemies ; and
he could understand why the hostility and antipathy against
himself, and others of prominence and activity in organizing
reconstruction, had greatly moderated, and acts of violence
against all these classes almost entirely ceased, as soon as they
became innocuous, or incapable of organizing a successful op
position to the will of a majority of the white race, in whom

292 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

alone they most sincerely believed there resided the inherent
right to rule, not only themselves, but also that lately servile
population which dwelt among them.

He believed that this solution answered every condition of
the problem, was a key which opened every mystery attend
ing the existence of the Ku-Klux Order, both during the reign
of terror which attended its establishment, and that peace
(which otherwise "passeth all understanding") that followed
its accession to unquestioned supremacy. The Policy of Sup
pression, in every form, he believed to be the fruit of these
complex motives ; and its completeness and success commanded
his unbounded admiration. It then became apparent to him
that the pride, resentment, and sense of ignominious oppres
sion, in the hearts of the Southern people, had swallowed up
all other thought, had rendered all other considerations trivial
and unimportant to their minds, when compared with the one
"great and holy aim" of redeeming the land to which they
were attached with such unalterable devotion, from the oppres
sion of foes whom they regarded with hereditary contempt and
hate. All else was lost in this one thought. All else could
be forgiven and forgotten ; all other sins might be condoned,
but the one sin against this all-pervading purpose. It gave
tone and color to the whole intellectual and moral life of this
people, and made that appear venial and insignificant which
would otherwise have been counted horrible and atrocious.

Lest it be thought that the Fool judged harshly in this
matter, an illustrative incident is given in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XL.

PRO BONO PUBLICO.

THERE was turmoil in the county of Rockfbrd. The repres
sive policy in all its various phases had been successfully

PRO BONO PUBLICO. 293

made effective there. Though everybody knew that the county
— when that policy was not applied, and every voter exercised
the privilege of casting his ballot as he pleased — was opposed
to the party of repression by several hundred majority, yet it
had been so skillfully manipulated since the death of John
Walters, that the majority upon the other side had been main
tained at a steady and reliable figure, which, strangely enough,
had been just about as large as the majority had formerly been
against it.

Yet Rockford was entirely peaceful; in fact, a very para
dise of harmonious unity. There were 1143 more colored men
than white in the county, according to the census report ; and,
during the first years in which these colored voters exercised
the prerogatives of citizenship, they had been accustomed —
very foolishly, it is true, but perhaps naturally, and at all
events very clamorously — to demand that a portion of the
offices should be filled by men of their own race. After the
policy of repression became fully established, and John Wal
ters was so mysteriously but effectually disposed of, the hearts
of these innocent and misguided Africans underwent a mar
velous change. They still continued to vote, as appeared
from the poll-books and returns of election, with the most per
sistent regularity; but they ceased to vote for those to whom
they had once been so warmly attached, and ceased to demand
and elect persons of their own color or formerly universal sen
timent for places of trust and emolument. It was a very
strange coincidence; and there were not wanting those who
pointed to it as undeniable evidence of fraud, or, as it was some
times termed, "intimidation." Some of the Wise Men who
dwelt at a distance tried to raise a clamor over it; but they
were easily put to rout by silver-tongued orators who painted
wonderful pictures of the millennial life and Edenic peace
which had prevailed in Rockford since the hour when the
pestiferous Walters departed from its coasts.

It is strange what metamorphoses the unaccountable African
has undergone. In the good old times before the war for the
right of Southern States to secede, it was established by the

294 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

concurrent testimony of all the most intelligent, wealthy,
refined, honorable, and high-toned among the Southern peo
ple, — those who owned slaves, and worked and whipped,
and bought and sold, and married and unmarried, as the exi
gencies of the race and the taste of the breeder demanded, —
it was established beyond question by these (and certainly they
must have known more about the negro than any one else,
since they had better opportunity), that the colored man was
not only divinely created and designed for a state of bondage,
but that he had a keen and subtle appreciation of his own
needs, requisites, and capabilities, and recognized with tran
scendent delight the prevision of Providence which had kindly
left him not unprovided with a master. In short, it was
established, beyond all doubt or controversy, that the African
was not only created for a state of slavery, but so conscious of
the object of his creation, and so anxious to fulfill the purpose
thereof, that he was both contented with a lot of servitude, and
actually clamorous for its delights, and unable to express his
sympathy and commiseration for the few individuals of his
race who were without the crowning blessing of a master. It
is true, that, even in those days, there were a few insane in
dividuals of this race (poor misguided creatures!) who were
always running away from the peace, plenty, happiness, and
divine beatitude of the plantation, and making towards poverty
and want, and labor and disease, and frost and the north pole
and — liberty ! But they were erring creatures, who only
served to disturb the peace of the Eden they were not wise
enough nor good enough to enjoy.

There were some, too, who would not believe the testimony
in regard to the unalloyed happiness of the slave, but persisted
in maintaining that the sanest, bravest, wisest, and noblest of
the African lace, were those who ran away to freedom. But
these people were not many, and they were also insane, — and
not only insane, but envious, wicked, and bloody-minded.
They were called " fanatics " and " abolitionists."

As soon as the war came on, and they were offered their
liberty, the nature of the perverse African seemed at once to

PRO BONO PUBLICO. 295

change. Every one of them accepted it, and that, too, with a
readiness and an eagerness which went very far to induce the
belief that they had wanted it all the time. Of course, we
know this was not so, by the testimony of those who knew
more about them than anybody else could ; but it did seem so
when they swarmed in the rear of the Federal armies, and
forsook home, friends, relatives, and patriarchal masters, for
privation, danger, and liberty.

And ever since, they have been manifesting a like contrari
ness and 'contradictoriness of character. Up to the very time
when the Ku-Klux Klan became well established in the South,
the negro manifested a most inveterate and invincible repug
nance and disinclination towards allowing his former masters
to define, regulate, and control his liberties, unless such person
had formally renounced the ideas of slavery and rebellion, had
openly and unmistakably declared himself in favor of the
equal legal and political rights and power of the colored race,
and had shown a disposition to concede them.

As soon as this beneficent institution, the Klan, and its more
subtle and complete successors, under various and sundry
names, "Rifle-Clubs," "Sabre-Clubs," "Bull-dozers," and so
forth, had fully established themselves throughout the country,
and it became apparent that the paternal and patriarchal spirit
of the nominally defunct system of Chattelism was still alive,
and was watching with assiduous care over the welfare and
happiness of its former childlike subjects, their hearts turned
again with the old-time affection to the former masters, who
they now again saw were not only their best, but their sole
friends, not only the chief and best guardians of their liberty,
but absolutely its primal authors. So they despised and
eschewed " nigger- politicians," and Radicals, and turned in
scorn and contempt away from those whose teachings disagreed
with the tenets of the Ku-Klux Klan, the Rifle-Clubs, and the
Bull-dozers, and clung again to their first loves, — their natural
and divinely-ordained. friends and protectors!

At least that is what these natural friends and protectors
said; and we must allow that they know more about the

296 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

negroes than anybody else, just as a groom knows more about
the horse he drives and controls than anybody else, and, of
course, is best informed as to the horse's opinion of him, the
said groom.

So there was peace in Rockford. But in an evil hour the
serpent of Ambition entered this Eden, and left his trail among
its flowers. Two of the party of peace, reform, and conserva
tism, cast a yearning eye upon the same office. The authority
of a convention was set at defiance ; and one reckless and
ambitious man declared that he would appeal to Caesar, and
not only to Caesar, but to Tony also, and, in fact, to all the
children of Ham in said county resident, to decide betwixt him
and his fellow. In the party of peace and order the thing
seemed to be pretty evenly divided ; and the recalcitrant
bolter and his friends promised to the unaccountable Afri
cans, that all who should vote for him should be protected in
so doing, and that the regular organization of that party should
not molest them, or make them afraid. And, in proof of that,
they showed their revolvers and Winchesters, and used many
" cuss- words," and imbibed courage by the quart.

And to them inclined the Africans.

This absurd perversity on the part of the dusky voters greatly
disturbed the party of law and order. If one was allowed thus
to appeal to this ebon vote, and ride into power thereby, what
would become of the party of peace and law and order ? Some
thing must be done, — something which would destroy this
presumptuous man's hold on his deluded followers. It would
not do to apply the usual tactics of the party, because it was
doubtful how such application would result. So it was deter
mined to destroy the hopes of the bolters, and detach from them
their new supporters by means of their tender devotion to the
memory of their quondam leader, the infamous Walters. It
was believed, that, if they could be convinced that this man
who asked their support was one of the band who had dipped
their hands in his blood, the silly Africans would at least
refrain from voting for him, out of a foolish veneration for
the memory of the dead leader. So the following card was

PRO BONO PUBLICO. 297

published, and scattered broadcast throughout the county, as
well as being given a prominent place in the columns of The
Moccason Gap Rattler : —

"WHO IS COLONEL MARCUS THOMPSON?

" The colored voters of Rockford, who are so anxious to ele
vate this notorious desperado, infidel, and renegade, to the posi
tion of sheriff of that county, are probably not aware of all the
infamy which surrounds his character. It is well known that
he was for several years the chief of the Ku-Klux and head of
the Bull-dozers of that county, and was of course responsible,
as such, for the acts committed by them. It is not, however,
so generally known that it was he who planned and executed
the murder of Jorix WALTERS, being himself the leader of the
band who first inveigled him to the place of his death, and
afterwards not only killed him, but took from his person a
considerable sum of money, which Colonel Marcus Thompson
appropriated to his own use. Yet such is the fact. It is sus
ceptible of abundant proof that he not only devised the kill
ing, but was the very first one who imbrued his hands in the
blood of Walters, lie expected to be rewarded for this act, by
his then political associates, with the office to which he now
aspires. Failing in this, he now appeals to the followers of
Walters for support. Whether they will indorse this red-
handed murderer and robber of the widow and the fatherless
remains to be seen."

In reply to this, Thompson published the following : —

"TO THE VOTERS OF ROCKFORD COUNTY.i

" It has been industriously circulated by the opposition, for
the purpose of inducing parties to withhold their support from
me, that I took, and appropriated to my own use, two thousand

1 There is a remarkable similarity between these circulars and the open
letters recently published by the chairman of the executive committee of Yazoo
County, Mississippi, and the late Mr. Dixon, then an independent candidate for
•heriff' of that county.

298 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

dollars found on the person of John Walters at the time of his
death. I did not wish to refer to such old matters, since to do
so must necessarily involve many of our best citizens. Those were
times of great excitement, and no doubt many things were
,done which it were better to have left undone. I was at that
time the Chairman of the Executive Committee of my party for
this county; and I hereby pronounce the charge that I used or
appropriated a solitary cent of the money found on the person
of Walters for my personal benefit or advantage, to be an infa
mous, unfounded, and malicious He. On the contrary, I affirm that
every cent of this money was used to defray the current expenses
of the party in that campaign, to stuif ballot-boxes, and to pur
chase certificates of election for persons now holding office in
the county. I have in my hands the documents necessary to
prove these facts, and will exhibit them whenever called upon
so to do.

" Respectfully,

"MARCUS THOMPSON."

The Fool read these cards, and smiled, even in the sadness
of the memory they evoked, at the sweet and peaceable fruits of
that spirit of conciliation which had swept over the land when
punishment impended over the heads of these knights of law
and order, — the masked Uhlans who had ridden at midnight.
As before stated, under the impulse of a divine compassion, it
had been enacted in the several States, that all crimes per
petrated by Ku-Klux, Bull-dozers, and other political societies
or orders, or by individuals under their authority, direction, or
instigation, should be absolutely and entirely amnestied and
forgiven. By reason of this enactment, it had become a matter
of little or no moment who killed John Walters. That was a
charge not even worthy of denial. But the charge that Colonel
Thompson had appropriated the money taken from the body
of the murdered man was an imputation under which no hon
orable man would rest.

It would seem, in some states of society, that the open con
fession that he had used the money thus obtained for the pur-

"PEACE IN WARSAW." 299

pose of bribing and corrupting officers of election, would of
itseir be counted scarcely less nefarious. However that may
be, Mr. Thompson evidently felt called upon, in vindication of
his personal character, to deny the one, and assert the other.
>s to the mere killing of the Radical John Walters, he con-
p'dered it unnecessary for him to make any admission or denial.
"That was an act of no more consequence than the infantile
[uery, " Who killed Cock Robin? "

The Fool pondered this matter sadly and earnestly. He
ihought it indicative of a distorted and blunted moral sense ;
yet he could not but pity the suffering, and admire the resolu
tion, which had wrought such insensibility of soul. He remem
bered the story of the Spartan youth who stood smiling and
indifferent while the stolen fox gnawed at his vitals.

CHAPTER XLI.

" PEACE IN WARSAW."

As time wore on, the personal relations which the Fool sus
tained to his neighbors continued to improve. It seemed as
if there had been a mutual discovery of agreeable attributes.
Men who had kept aloof from him during all the years of his
sojourn, or had greeted him but coolly, and had been accus
tomed to speak of him to others with any thing but kindliness,
came gradually to manifest, first tolerance, and then something
of kindly partiality for him. This was especially true of the
more cultivated and active-minded men of the vicinage. They
seemed to recognize, with a kind of surprise, the fact that the
man they had been accustomed to denounce so bitterly was yet
not entirely uncompanionable. So, among these, his compan
ionship increased in a way that reminded him of the forbear
ance sometimes extended to a not altogether unpleasing and
quite harmless lunatic.

300 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

This state of things not unfrequently caused the Fool to
smile, though he had now become wise enough to prize aright
the honest effort which many of these men made to overcome
an hereditary prejudice, and accord to him that personal
recognition which they believed him to have merited. He no
longer wondered that the welcome which the ever-ready West
extends to the ceaseless tide which crowds its gates was not
given to him on his arrival ; but he did wonder that these men
could so overcome the force of a prejudice which had become
instinctive, an exclusiveness which had been for some genera
tions almost as complete as that of the Celestial Kingdom, and
a pride which had been so deeply wounded by the ruthless
outcome of recent events, as even to recognize his personal
right and merit when the same was entirely disassociated
from any recognition of political privilege. He did not de
ceive himself in regard to these appearances. He knew that
they did not portend any cessation of what was termed politi
cal intolerance ; that there was no relaxation of that feeling
which would not allow practical opposition to its mandates.
He knew that he was not tolerated because his political convic
tions were conscientiously entertained, nor because of any
feeling, on the part of those with whom he was surrounded,
that every man was entitled to entertain and advocate such
political views as he might prefer, or that such freedom, was
an essential element of republican government, — but rather
in spite of his conscientiousness, and because his views could
have no chance of practical application in the future. The
» language which they held of him in their hearts, he correctly
believed to be " He's a terrible Radical ; but he is not so bad
a man, after all. His political views can do no harm now. No
doubt he is honest in them : it is natural that a Northern man
should hold such views. But, otherwise, he is not so disagree
able." So his daily life became far more endurable.

A conviction of the utter powerlessness of those elements
with which the Fool had politically co-operated no doubt had a
certain effect upon his mind and conduct. His views had not
been changed by the great counter-revolution which had swept

"PEACE IN WARSAW." 301

on around him. His belief in the equality and inherency of
human right, whether it be termed a principle or a prejudice,
was equally strong as upon that day when it first flashed upon
his mind that those around him excepted from the operation
of this democratic formula all individuals of the African race.
He could not bring himself to see that race, color, or previous
condition of servitude, had any thing to do with the doctrine
of inherent right. Neither could he adopt that belief with
which the judicial philosophers of our American bench had
reconciled themselves to neutrality in the more recent conflict
for liberty, which is more usually formulated in the expression,
"Suffrage is not a right, but a privilege." So he could not
reconcile himself with any line of thought or policy which
depended for its success upon silencing and negativing — either
by fraud, misrepresentation, or violence — the voice of the
majority. The fact that a man had been born a slave did not,
in his eyes, affect the question of his inherent right; because
he regarded slavery simply as an unnatural and wrongful
accident, — a state of society which had been superimposed on
the rightful and natural one, suspending the operation of the
latter, and taking from certain parties the rights which they
had. On account of which, when such false and anomalous
relations ceased, all parties affected by it were relegated to
those rights they would have been entitled to, if it had never
existed; and these rights, he thought, must relate back to, and
take effect from, the first, precisely as if this unnatural state
of servitude had not intervened. »

It is by no means improbable, however, that he found fewer
occasions to utter such opinions, and took less trouble to incul
cate such views, from the fact that it might cause suffering to
those who should accept and believe the doctrine. For him
self, he could not see that a man's race or condition, wealth or
poverty, ignorance or intelligence, should affect his civic jright :
he was sure, they should not, if the theory of republican and
democratic governments be true, — that the majority should
rule. He felt that ignorance, poverty, and an ebon skin,
were each of them terrible afflictions, and acknowledged that

302 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

they might all of them be classed as public evils in our Ameri
can democracy; but he could not admit that either or all of
them constituted true or just limitations of political power or
inherent right. He despised that lack of manhood which
seeks to avoid responsibility by silence, or which submits to
wrong to avoid the trouble of resistance.

Yet he admitted to himself that if he were one of the
unfortunate and despised race, if he shared its poverty, inex
perience, and helplessness, in short, if he were even as one
of his colored fellow-citizens in these respects, he would not
think of such a thing as exercising or asserting his political
rights, but, on the contrary, would submit, with such patience
as he could command, to whatever might impend, hoping and
waiting for one of two things to occur; viz., either an improve
ment in the temper and inclination of the ruling class, or an
opportunity to get away to some region beyond their power.
He really thought it an amazing piece of heroism that the
colored man should so long have taken, not merely his own
life, but the lives of his little ones, in his hand, and have gone
to the ballot-box to deposit his ballot against such fearful odds
of power. He thought that those who had died of one form
of intolerance and another, since the time when a great nation
falsely guaranteed to them safety, liberty, and the rights of
citizenship; the thousands who fell victims to the violence
of Ku-Klux and Rifle Clubs, the natural sad barbarity which
inaugurated and sustained the Repressive policy, — these thou
sands he deemed to have constituted an army of martyrs for
those very principles which he still believed, and of which
he was once so proud.

Yet he did not feel that it would be right for him to induce
or encourage other thousands to tempt the same fate, or to seek
to exercise the same rights. He could not encourage them to
do what he would not do under like circumstances. So he did
not feel like urging them to make any further stand for what
were termed their rights, nor to seek to gain any thing by the
exercise or assertion of them.

While, therefore, he was not silenced by personal fear or vio

"PEACE IN WARSAW." 303

lence, while he even boasted with no little stubborn pride that
he could declare his opinions there as freely as on the hills of
New England or in his native Western home, he could not but
smile at the fallacy which lay hid in his own words. The
Repressive policy had as effectually eradicated his desire for
self-assertion as if it had consummated the design which was
instituted at Bentley's Cross. He might not be in any danger
from declaring his opinions ; but Lhe well knew that those who
listened to him would invite danger and suffering, should they
resolutely seek to carry his views into effect. He was, in a
sense, at liberty to act as he chose ; but the consequences of his
action to others were so terrific that he must have been either
more or less than man to have invited them. So, without
abandoning his principles, as he called them, — for he had come
almost to believe that what are termed " principles " are only
ingrained habits of thought, and hereditary systems of belief,
— he submitted quietly to having them rendered inoperative
and nugatory by the suppression of the will of the majority, or,
rather, by excluding from the estimate those who were opposed
to the white majority. By this course he found himself enjoy
ing a personal peace and toleration which was very grateful,
after what had gone before. Where he had been hated with
out stint, and maligned without scruple, he was now tolerated
with an "if," or commended with a "but."

The Fool felt that he was learning wisdom in thus submit
ting himself to the inevitable, and gradually came to regard
himself and his neighbors with far more of reasonable com
placency than he had hitherto done. He saw that he had ex
pected too much, that he had been simple enough to believe
that the leopard might change his spots, while yet the Ethiopian
retained his dusky skin. He was even grateful for the tolera
tion which was extended to him, and looked with a sort of won
der on the men who so far forgot, or put aside, the past, as to do
this. He even advanced to the point where he looked back
with no inconsiderable surprise at the state of mind which had
once possessed him. He was inclined to ridicule many of the
exalted notions of manhood and independence which lie had

304 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

once entertained, and to wonder that he could ever have been so
idiotically stupid as to have expected aught except what had
in fact occurred. So there arose a spirit of mutual forbear
ance ; they forbore to take offense at his views, and he forbore
to express them ; they excused his views because of his
Northern birth and education, and he excused their acts because
of their Southern nativity and training ; they disregarded his
political convictions because a method had been discovered to
prevent their crystallizing into results, and he refrained from
urging them because to do so was a useless travail.

In fact, by this change of heart, the Fool gradually ceased to
interest himself in those things which had formerly been of
such engrossing moment to him. Realizing his own folly, and
the foolishness of that struggle with the spirit and civilization
of a great people which had been so rashly inaugurated, he
sought only to enjoy what was pleasant in his surroundings,
and to put behind him the conflicts of the past. He had
learned that the spirit, the mode of thought, the life of the
North, can not be imposed upon the South in an instant; that
if the two divergent civilizations are ever to meet, and harmo
nize with each other, it must be when time and circumstance
are more propitious than the present, or when some great con
vulsion has so swerved the currents, that they meet in one over
whelming flood.

So there was peace at Warrington. Without forgetting old
friends, the Fool made new ones, blessed the sunshine and the
shade, thought less of the welfare of his fellows and more
of his own comfort, and rejoiced that the struggle which the
Wise Men had cast upon his fellow-workers and himself was
at an end. He had fought stubbornly and well. All admitted
that. Until he felt that he was betrayed, renounced, dis
credited, and condemned by the very element which had thrust
this burden on him, he had never thought of surrender.
Having given in his adhesion to the plan of reconstruction, even
though it were under protest, he felt that he could not honora
bly abandon the contest until discharged by the act or per
mission of those allies in the contest. This had been done, and

"PEACE IN WARSAW." 305

he was relieved from further duty. When the power of the
Nation was withdrawn, the struggle was at an end. Failure
was written above the grave of the pet idea of the AVise Men.
It was with a feeling of relief, if not of satisfaction, that the
Fool recognized this result. He was like the battered soldier,
who, though not victorious, sits iu his old age, crowned with
the glory of many wounds, peaceful and contented despite the
undesired outcome of his warfare.

He still believed in the cause for which he had struggled,
and believed in the capacity of those with whom he had
worked to achieve for themselves, at some time in the future, a
substantial freedom ; but in that struggle he could do but little.
He believed that it would be long and tedious ; that the waver
ing balance would hang in doubt for generations; and that, in
the mean time, that haughty, self-reliant, and instinctively domi
nant element which had already challenged the Nation to a
struggle of strength, had been defeated, and out of disaster had
already wrested the substantial, fruits of victor}/, would achieve
still greater triumphs, and would for an indefinite period domi
nate and control the national power. He saw this without
envy ; for it was apparent to him that a people who could per
form such wonders of political legerdemain without awakening
the fears, or hardly the distrust, of those whose power they
had felt, but whose prestige they had overthrown — whose
glory they had already trailed in the dust until it was ac
counted far more honorable to have struck at the Nation's life
than to have interposed a life to avert the blow — had, in a
peculiar degree, those characteristics which are necessary to
secure and hold dominion.

While it was not without chagrin that he noted these facts,
and while his cheek flushed with something like shame as he
remembered the halting, shuffling indecision of his own people,
and how they had pandered to a sickly sentimentalism, re
linquishing therefor the substance of power, betraying and
abandoning their allies, and heaping upon them the contempt
and shame of the failure which resulted thereby, he could but
admit, with something of pride in the conviction, that those

306 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

who had thus thwarted and overthrown their conquerors were
born rulers of men, whose empire was not likely to fail from
any lack of vigor. He looked forward to see them regaining
the proud supremacy of ante helium days, — not indeed with
satisfaction; for what he had so long called his " principles "
stood stubbornly in the way, and he was sure that they would
fall some time, — but at least with admiring pride in the capa'
bilities of that branch of the American stock.

So the days flew on, and the sun shone, and Warrington
grew brighter, and Lily grew fairer and riper, and Metta looked
more matronly and grave, and the Fool sat in the sunshine.
The tie between Lily and her father, unusually strong before,
had been redoubled in strength and intensity by her heroic
act. Before, she had been his companion and his pupil ; since
then, she had been his companion even more frequently,
but the idea of pupilage seemed to have been absorbed in
the self-abnegation of parental hope and pride. To her im
provement he now devoted the ripest powers of the life she
had saved. Comprehending fully the defects of her some
what desultory education, when he came to examine the
results he was surprised at what had been accomplished.
The basis which Metta had laid with untiring devotion had
been strongly built upon by that confiding freedom which had
been exercised toward her by both her parents, and especially
by her father's custom of conversing with her upon all those
subjects which had especially .engaged his attention. The
desire to converse with him Intelligently upon these themes
had induced her, partly by means of questions directed to such
subjects, and partly by consulting the books and periodicals
which he read, to familiarize herself with them, until there were
few subjects of current thought upon which she was not able
to converse, not only intelligibly, but readily, and with a clear
ness and originality which had surprised the few strangers with
whom she had opportunity to exchange thought. Seeing this
foundation laid, Servosse decided to continue her education in
pretty much the same manner, directing it now towards specific
objects, and making what are termed accomplishments the

"PEACE IN WARSAW." 307

fringe of her education, rather than its web, it being his im
pression that about the same relation should be maintained
between them as should exist in real life. Being of the opin
ion that true education consisted more in a power to master a
subject, to perceive, discover, and marshal facts in relation
thereto, than in the mere acquisition of those facts, he did not
confine her to dry details, nor occupy her mind with the probing
of specific systems. For her sake, he turned again to those
fields of thought which had been the delight of his youth and
early manhood, and with a gentle hand led her feet through the
fair fields of literature, — the history of the world's thought.
Side by side with this, he unfolded before her that other book
which we call history, — the story of the world's outward hap
penings, the deeds of her heroes, the wrongs of her martyrs, and
the sins of her great criminals, together with the little which
we know of the sufferings, burdens, and misfortunes of her
great masses. She had never known any other school than
her home, and no masters but her devoted parents. For her
sake they had banished from the home-circle the language of
their childhood, and had confined themselves to dialects which
had grown unfamiliar to their tongues from long disuse. She
had learned three things which Servosse accounted all import
ant ; first, that education w7as a life-work, and not a matter to be
crowded into a few early years ; second, that the learner must in
most matters be also the teacher, or, in other words, that the
province of the teacher is rather to test the attainments of
the learner than to direct his acquirements ; and, third, that to
know is to observe, to understand, and to delineate.

As a relief from the absorbing thought which he had given
to public matters, this duty was most delightful to Servosse,
and it seemed as if the fruition of their early hope' had been
vouchsafed to himself and his wife, when he begun to realize
that the relations and feelings of this period must necessarily
soon take from him this crowning pleasure of his life. Metta,
ever anxious for the interests of her daughter, began to urge
the necessity of travel, and desired that the well-prepared mind
should be finished and rounded by the experiences of varied

308 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

life. This question had already been one of anxious considera
tion, when one day Servosse was amazed at an occurrence which
his wiser-hearted wife had foreseen.

For over them both watched the tender and careful Metta,
proud and happy in her fair daughter's present, and hopeful of
her future, but, with strange inconsistency, exulting more in
what her husband had been during his acces de La folie than in
what he now was when following the paths of wisdom. But
such is ever the contradictoriness of woman's nature.

CHAPTER XL II.

A FRIENDLY MEDIATION.

IT will be remembered that John Burleson had not failed
to acquaint Colonel Servosse with the device which Melville
Gurney had adopted to favor the escape of Lily, after he had
recognized her on the night of her perilous ride. Servosse
had such confidence in the qualities of his favorite horse that
he was not at first inclined to attribute so much importance
to the act.

" After Young Lollard had once passed him, there was little
chance of Mr. Gurney's stopping her, even had he desired.
There is not a horse in the State that can cover four miles in
the time that colt makes light of," he said to Burleson.

" That may be," responded that worthy, in his usual brusque
and defiant manner, ''though the mare Mel. Gurney rode that
night was no slouch, either. But suppose he had used his
pistol, which he handles with one hand as well as with the
other. I don't believe Mel. Gurney could be induced, under any
circumstances, to shoot at a lady ; and no one could ever mistake
Miss Lily for any thing else, in any sort of light. Her very
seat on horseback shows that. But suppose he had, — suppose
he had not been the gallant, chivalric Mel. Gurney that he is:
what then?"

A FRIENDLY MEDIATION. 309

" A man with a shot through his left arm, and a high-
blooded horse to manage, is not very dangerous with a revolver,
to one who has Young Lollard under him, and an open road
before him," replied the Fool, with an amused smile. " Really,
Mr. Burleson, I am half inclined to think the favor was on the
other side. In the first place, Mr. Gurney should be grateful
that her shot struck his arm. Of course that was accident;
but I would not like to trust to such accidents, with Lily
pointing a revolver at me less than ten steps away. She has a
wonderfully steady hand. Besides that, I am not sure that
Mr. Gurney should not count among the mercies of that night
the fact that his mare could not overtake Young Lollard. I
am not at all sure that Lily, wrought up as she was to despera
tion, would not have proved the more dangerous adversary."

" I see you are bound not to give my friend Gurney credit
for any thing except a cunningly-invented tale to cover his
own discomfiture," said Burleson.

" I confess," replied Servosse coolly, " that I can see little
further merit in it. It seems to me that the young man did
about all he could to prevent her escape, and, when this proved
unavailing, invented the story about the rabbit, and the acci
dental shooting, to avoid ridicule for allowing a woman to pass
his guard. I suppose he would rather have died than confess
that fact. I believe I would have preferred almost any thing
short of that, in his place. Of course, I mean no offense to
you in speaking thus of your friend. At first 1 was so
astounded at the fact that one whom I had accounted such a
fine, manly fellow, who had been at my house, and for whose
father I had such a sincere regard, should have been with that
crcwd, and upon that errand, that I could not think coolly in
regard to it. Indeed, I was so grateful for my daughter's
escape from deadly peril, to say nothing of our rescue from '
the horrible fate, I think I could have hugged with gratitude
any of that crowd of cut-throats, simply because of their fail
ure to do what they intended."

"Including among them your humble servant, I suppose,"
said Burleson good-naturedly.

310 A FOOUS ERRAND.

"Of course," replied Servosse. "I had then no reason to
except you from my general estimate. Indeed, from what I
had previously known and heard of you, I was not at all sur
prised at finding you in such company."

" You are like me in one thing, at least," said Burleson,
flushing as he spoke. "Your speech is not hurt by a lack of
frankness."

" There is more than one point of resemblance between us,
]\Ir. Burleson," said the Fool thoughtfully, and taking no note
of his embarrassment. "I have thought of it several times
since that night. Considering all the circumstances of your
connection with the Klan and the raid (and the same is true
of young Gurney), it seems to me that I should have done the
same in your place; except, I am afraid 1 should not have had
the courage to renounce my error, and especially not to protest
so manfully as you did at Bentley's Cross, which Lily told me
about."

"Don't, if you please, Colonel!" said Burleson, as the
blushes chased each other over his manly face. " I am thor
oughly ashamed of having been betrayed by any sort of foolish
fear of ridicule into any connection with the thing whatever.
Do you know, I never once thought about the right or wrong
of the matter, the view which instinctively presents itself to
your mind. I only thought of the impolicy and danger of it —
I mean danger to our people, to the South. I did not think
particularly of myself; for I had made up my mind to take
what came, with the rest. I wanted to see our party succeed,
and gave no consideration to the rights of yours. Indeed, I
never regarded you as having any rights, — any legal or moral
right to political power, 1 mean. I considered the enfranchise
ment of the negro as an act of legal usurpation and moral
turpitude, and considered all you carpet-baggers and scalawags
as parties to the offense. I thought this outrage was enough
to excuse any sort of irregular warfare short of the actual
taking of life, which, in fact, was not at first dreamed of. To
tell the truth, I thought it would be a good thing if about half
the niggers in the country were taken out and whipped about

A FRIENDLY MEDIATION. 311

once a fortnight; and T am not sure but it would be a good
thing now.

" The killing of old Jerry first woke me up. I was away at
the time, and never knew a word of it. If I had been here, it
should not have been done, except over my dead body. I
knew him from my boyhood ; and if there ever was an honest,
Christian nigger on earth, his name was Jerry Hunt. Gad !
sir, it made my hair stand on end, when I heard of it ! and, to
save my soul, Colonel, I have not been able to get over the idea
that I have his blood on my hands, yet. Damned if I don't
feel just so!

"They were hot for you after that, Colonel. Men are just
like dogs, anyhow. Just let them get a taste of blood, and they
are as savage as wolves. As soon as Jerry was killed, it seemed
as if the whole Klan was wild for blood. Only a few opposed
it, — just enough, and of the right sort. As it happened, too,
most of these were young hot-heads, like Mel. Gurney and
myself. The old men generally take the credit for all the
conservatism in the world ; but it's a mighty bad mistake. The
old man's conservatism means only to keep out of danger, —
keep his own skirts clear; but a young man backs just as hard
as he pulls. If he opposes a thing in such a body, he fights
it — tooth and toe-nail. If he is beaten, just as likely as not
he goes with the crowd, shares the danger, and takes the blame.
But when a man passes a certain age, he becomes smart of a
sneak. These old fellows who were opposed to such things
simply said they would have nolhing to do with them, and kept
aloof. That was the way with Melville Gurney's father, the
General. He joined it before it got to doing more than just go
about and scare the niggers, which he had no objection to being
done, especially as he was a candidate for something about that
time. When these worse things begun, he quietly let it alone;
so much so, that his son never knew of his having been a mem
ber until that day at Glenville. I reckon if it had come to that,
he would have stood up for you. I've heard him speak very
highly of you. But he never had a chance. I suppose really
I stood between you and danger some three or four times when
you knew nothing of it."

312 A FOODS ERRAND.

"And no doubt saved me at Bentley's Cross, by your alter
cation with Jake Carver, which enabled my daughter to slip
away unperceived," said Servosse warmly.

" Well, perhaps that is so," said Burleson with surprise. " I
ha,d never thought of that; but I am not entitled to any credit
for it, since it was unintentional. Melville Gurney's chivalry
and presence of mind is what saved you — next, of course, to
Miss Lily's heroism."

" I can not see," said Servosse impatiently, " why you will
give so much credit to' Gurney. Your friendly partiality blinds
you to the probable motive which animated him."

"No," replied Burleson, "it is you that are blind, — blinder
than a bat, as you will find out some day."

"I have no disposition to do the young man any injustice,"
said Servosse.

" Oh ! I do not suppose so, — not at all," said Burleson; "but
you don't know Melville Gurney as I do. He is as true as
steel, and as straight as an arrow, both literally and figura
tively. I only wonder that he came to be in the thing at all.
I know the motive that influenced his action that night, from
his own mouth; and Melville Gurney would not lie for a king
dom. See here, Colonel ! " he added impetuously, " I am sur
prised that you can not see this thing in its true light. Sup
pose Melville Gurney had not wished your daughter's safety
and success in her errand : what would he have done ? Given
notice to the camp of what had occurred on his post, wouldn't
he V "

" Yes, I suppose so," said Servosse.

" And what would have been the result ? "

" I'm sure I don't know."

" You don't ? Do you know Jake Carver? "

"Yes."

" A bold and resolute man, relentless in his purpose, and ruth
less in his antipathies."

"I have heard so."

" And that man was in command of a hundred well-mounted
and reckless men."

" Well ? "

A FRIENDLY MEDIATION. 313

" Well ? My God, man ! how long would it have taken him
to decide to follow your daughter's track, and seize you and
Judge Denton in the town, instead of at the bridge ?"

" Heavens ! " cried Servosse, springing to his feet. " I had
never thought of that. "

"I should think not," said Burleson in a tone of triumph.
" But if Melville Gurney had not put him off the scent you
would have thought of it! In less than fifteen minutes, —
before you got Miss Lily back to the hotel, — you would have
had Jake Carver and the rest on you, and you would have been
roasted to a turn on Denton's Bridge. Miss Lily, too " —

"My God!" said Servosse, "you are right! I had never
thought of it in that way. I have done the young man injus
tice. I will write to him, and render our thanks."

John Burleson was in high glee, thinking he had served his
friend not only effectually but skillfully; for Servosse had no
idea of tne real motive which animated Melville Gurney in
inventing the fiction which he had used to account for his
wounded arm.

At the earnest solicitation of Lily, all knowledge of the
shooting had been confined to Judge Denton and her mother,
so that Melville's excuse was still regarded by all others as the
true explanation of his misfortune. It was well known that
she had ridden to Glenville to warn her father of his danger,
and there was an indefinite idea that she had had a wonderful
escape from the Klan on the way; but even those who composed
the party had no distinct idea of the manner of her escape. If
it occurred to any one of them to suspect the fidelity of Mel
ville Gurney, that suspicion was put at rest by the fact that he
had ever since seemed utterly oblivious of her presence.

So Servosse repeated to his daughter the story which Bur-
ieson had given, and at its conclusion said, " I think that we
have done him injustice, and that I ought to write, and ac
knowledge his considerateness ; don't you, my dear?"

The blushes had deepened on her cheeks as he thus spoke,
and she looked up shyly with a tender light in her eyes, at the
question he asked. If he had looked at her, she would have

314 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

opened her heart, and shown him a tender secret which lay
hidden there even from the watchful eyes of her mother, who
for a while after her adventure had half-suspected the truth,
and had laid many innocent little plans to surprise her secret,
but without success. The Man did not look up, however, so
she only answered him demurely, —

" As you choose, Papa. I am sure you know best."
And so, he wrote his letter of acknowledgment, had the
satisfaction of having done his duty, and thought no more of
the matter.

CHAPTER XLIII.

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER.

" I HAVE come, Colonel Servosse," said Melville Gurney,
sitting in the other's office a few days after the events narrated
in the preceding chapter, " to ask your permission to pay my
addresses to your daughter."

" What ! " exclaimed Servosse, starting from his easy atti
tude, and gazing at the flushed and embarrassed young man,
with a look of consternation which the latter mistook for
anger.

" I know, Colonel Servosse," he began in a stammering,
apologetic voice —

"Stop, stop!" said Servosse, springing to his feet, and be
ginning to pace up and down the room. "Do not say any
thing now, if you please. I wish to think."

The young man looked with amazement on the evident
agitation of the man whose coolness and self-possession he
had so often heard his father mention with admiration and
surprise. He had expected to be embarrassed himself ; and,
during the half-hour's conversation which had preceded his
avowal, he had fully realized his premonition. The reiterated

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 315

thanks of the other for the service rendered himself and
daughter had been received with confusing blushes ; arid his
replies had been disjointed and irrelevant. As is always
the case, his embarrassment kept adding to his confusion of
ideas, until at length he had blurted out the words which had
produced such a surprising effect on his auditor. For a time,
the younger man was by far the more composed of the twain.
The elder walked back and forth across the room until his
face settled into those calm, rigid lines which betoken a fixed
purpose. Then he sat down opposite the young man, and,
looking at him quietly but not unkindly, said, —

"Well?"

"I have loved Miss Lily," said Melville, thus inquiringly
addressed, "ever since I first saw her."

"On the night of" — asked Servosse, with an expressive
tone and gesture.

" No," returned the other : " I had met her before, while she
was visiting some friends in Pultowa. She was little more
than a child then; but I was so impressed with her that I asked
leave to visit her at home, and was shortly after invited to a
party here."

" Ah, I recollect ! " interposed the listener.

" Soon after that time occurred the incident of which we
have been speaking. I should have spoken immediately after
that; but I inferred, from her silence and your seeming cool
ness, that she had lost all regard, or, rather, entertained a
positive dislike, for me. I was too proud to take any indi
rect method to satisfy myself upon this point. Your letter
seemed to open the way for me, and I came as soon as I
thought would appear seemly."

" And Lily, have you spoken to her? " asked Servosse, with
some sternness.

" I have not seen her since the day after her adventure, save
at a distance, and have never spoken a word to her in regard
to such a matter."

" And your parents, young man, what do they say ? " asked
the Fool sharply.

316 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

The brown-bearded face before him flushed hotly, and the
young man drew himself up somewhat haughtily, as he re
plied, —

" I am twenty-eight years old, have a fair estate in my own
right, and chiefly of my own acquisition. I am not under the
control of my parents."

" I did not ask with regard to your estate, sir," said Servosse
quietly : " I asked as to your parents' wishes."

"I beg pardon," said the lover. "I should have answered
before ; but I hardly see why my happiness should be made to
depend on my parents' wishes. If I were a minor, it would be
natural."

"Yet I suppose I may ask, whether the answer be material
or immaterial to your proposal," said the Fool with the ut
most composure.

" Oh, certainly! " said the young man, with considerable con
fusion. " Well, to tell you the truth, Colonel, they are very
strongly averse to it. I considered it my duty to let them
know what I intended doing."

"I am very glad you did so," interposed Servosse.

"I told them, and was met with remonstrances and re
proaches by my mother, and with more of anger than my
father had ever shown towards me before."

" Their objection was what ? " sharply.

"I don't know exactly. In the first place, they had made
up their minds that I should do otherwise. I knew that be
fore, had known it for years. They had looked forward, and
mapped out my life for me, — all in kindness and love I know,
— and I arn sorry I can not comply with their wishes. I told
them that 1 could not, and that I must be the judge of my own
happiness."

" And then ? " as the young man paused.

" Well," said he apologetically, " there was as much of a
scene as there ever is in my father's house. He told me that
if I persisted in ruining my prospects I might take the respon
sibility. And my mother, — well, sir, you must excuse her: she
was much disappointed, but it will not last, — she said that if
I must marry a Yankee girl I need not bring her there."

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 317

"In other words, your parents object to an alliance with
my family because we are of Northern birth," said the Fool.

" Not exactly : not so much because you are Northerners,
as because you are not Southerners, — are strangers so to
speak; not of us, nor imbued with our feelings; speaking
our language, but not thinking our thoughts. Then, too, you
know, Colonel, there has been much political bitterness, and
very harsh things have been said ; and there is among the
people — I mean those who constitute our best society — a
strange sort of prejudice against you, which naturally ex
tends, in some measure, to your family."

" Was there any other objection urged ? "

"None."

" And what did you say to this ? "

"Only what I said years ago, when I first realized the
strength of my attachment : ' I will woo and win Lily Servosse
for my wife if I can.' "

" And you are still so disposed? "

" Most assuredly."

There was silence between them for a time, and then Ser
vosse said, —

" Your conduct in this whole matter has been most honora
ble, Mr. Gurney ; and, so far as you are personally concerned,
you are entirely unobjectionable to me. What may be my
daughter's opinion, I have no means of knowing. I have
hardly yet accustomed myself to recognize the possibility of
such an event as her marriage. She is lively and sociable,
and for a few years past has had considerable society of a
general sort, but, so far as I am aware, has never before been
thought of as marriageable, nor do I think the idea has once
entered her own mind.

" I will not conceal from you, Mr. Gurney, that I wish it had
not occurred to you. I think your parents' objections are wise
and weighty. I do not put it upon the ground of restraint or
duty ; but I think they correctly estimate the difference of
surroundings, habits of thought, and all those things which
enter so largely into the make-up of human life, and which

A FOOL'S ERRAND,

youth and passion often fail to consider. T think it would be
better for you to wed a daughter of your own people, and better
for her to take a husband whose ideas are more in harmony
with those to which she has been accustomed. I know these
also to be, even more decidedly, the views of my wife. I sup
pose she would feel almost as badly at her daughter's marry
ing a Southern man as your mother does at the prospect of
a Northern daughter-in-law, or perhaps worse.

"Notwithstanding these views, I admit that it is entirely
a question of your mutual happiness, which no one can de
termine but yourselves. I have the utmost confidence in
Lily's judgment and sincerity. I would not have her accept
or reject your proposal hastily. It is not the case of two
young people who have grown up together, each knowing the
other's faults, understanding their mental and moral natures.
You are almost strangers.

" Oh, I know ! " he continued, responsively to a shake of the
young man's head, " Love has wings, and makes swift journeys
and instant discoveries; but it will do no harm to have his
reports confirmed by reason and quiet observation. I shall do
nothing to influence her decision, unless she asks my advice;
in which case I shall tell her, as near as may be, what I have
told you.

" You" have my leave to pay your addresses ; and, if I can
not wish you success in your wooing, I hope you understand
that I will throw no obstacle in your way, and, should you
succeed, will do all in my power to render happy the result.
I hope that my frankness will induce a like candor upon your
part with my daughter. I need hardly tell you that you will
find her more ripened and developed in mind and character
than her years would lead a stranger to expect."

The two men shook hands, and Melville inquired if he could
see Miss Lily. Upon inquiry, it was found that she had just
started to ride upon " the three-o'clock road " towards Verden-
ton, — a road so denominated because it lay through the woods,
and, even at that most oppressive hour of the day, the sun did
not once beat upon the traveler in the five miles which it
extended.

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 319

" She has Young Lollard," the father said, as he returned
from the house ; " but she is too good a horsewoman to ride
fast at the beginning, and in this heat. You will probably
overtake her before she reaches the town, and you can take
your own time on the return. By the way," he added, " I
spoke briefly to my wife of your errand, and she fully ap
proves what I have said to you."

The young man thanked him again, sprang on his horse, and
dashed off in the direction indicated.

Half way to the town, Lily was passing through a shady
bottom, when the clatter of a horse's hoofs behind her attracted
her attention, and, turning, she saw a man approaching at full
speed, mounted on a powerful gray horse. At the first glance
she recognized the horse as that ridden by the messenger who
had brought the warning of her father's peril. During all the
time that had since elapsed, she had never forgotten the horse
or the rider, and had always been on the watch for them, in
order that she might testify her gratitude. The memory this
discovery evoked so startled and overwhelmed her, that she
quite forgot to notice the rider, until Melville Gurney drew up
at her side, and, doffing his hat, said cheerily, —

"Good-evening, Miss Lily !" And theii, noticing her pallor
and confusion, he added, " Pardon me : I hope I did not startle
you. It was very thoughtless in me to ride up at that gait ;
and, indeed, I would not have done so, had I not known your
skill as a horsewoman."

" Oh ! " she said confusedly, " it was not you, but your
horse."

" Of course," he replied, laughing heartily. "That is what
I supposed; and it was for my horse I was apologizing."

"But I did not mean that," she said, blushing prettily, and
laughing too. " I thought I recognized your horse ; and it
startled me to see him again."

" Ah ! you are a close observer of horses," he said pleasantly.
" When and where did you think you had seen him V He is a
somewhat notable horse."

" Very ! One could hardly fail to remember him. Does he
belong to you, Mr. Gurney V "

320 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" What, Reveille ? " he asked, with an amused smile. " No,
indeed ! He is my father's favorite saddle-horse. Never had
a harness on ; and I don't suppose any one ever backed him but
Pa, myself, and Brother Jimmie."

" A younger brother? " she asked innocently.

" Yes, ten years younger."

" Is he like you? "

*' No, lighter. Almost as blonde as you."

" How long has your father owned Reveille*? "

" Raised him from a foal. He is almost as fond of horses
as your father, Miss Lily."

" Indeed ! " And she thought with a strange pleasure, " And
your father saved my father's life." Then it occurred to her
that possibly it might have been the act of the man who rode
beside her : she would find out. So she said, with burning
cheeks and an arch emphasis, —

" You were not so well mounted when we rode together last,
Mr. Gurney."

" No, indead. Pa had Reveille with him in another county
when I left home the day before."

" For which fact it behooves me to be duly grateful, I do not
doubt, Mr. Gurney," she said lightly.

" Reveille could have pushed Young Lollard closer than
the black mare did," he answered, with significant emphasis.
Something in his tone made her heart beat with strange appre
hension. To change the subject, she said desperately, eying
the horse critically as she spoke, —

"I think I have seen that horse at Warrington."

" I am sure he was never there until to-day," he answered.

"You came by there, then?" she asked, because she could
think of nothing else to say. The strange prescience of her
woman's heart told her that her hour had come ; and, like a
moth about a candle, it seemed that she but fluttered nearer
to her doom with every weak attempt to avoid it.

" My business was with your father," he replied.

She looked up quickly, as if surprised, and met his eyes
flaming down into her own the question which his tremulous

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 321

lips were trying to syllable forth. The terror of maiden love
in its last effort at concealment took hold upon her. She
would have given worlds to avert the utterance of words which
she knew would come, which her bounding heart was clamor
ous to reward. The horses were walking slowly, side by side,
in the cool shadows. He reached across, and took her bridle-
hand in his, and stopped them both. She did not resist. She
wished she had not submitted. She could not lift her eyes
from her horse's mane. Then came one last struggle of maid
enly reserve. As is always the case, it was one of those stupid
blunders which throw down the last defense, and leave the
fluttering, tender heart at the mercy of the relentless assailant.

" O Mr. Gurney," she cried, in feverish desperation, " I
have never had a chance before to beg your forgiveness for
what I did that night ! I am sure I am very sorry."

" And I am very glad to hear you say so," he said exultantly.

" Why ? " She looked up in wonder at his apparent rude
ness ; but her eyes fell again, as he replied, —

" Because your sorrow for the past will incline you to be
merciful in the future. If you are sorry for having broken
my arm, how would you feel if you should break my heart ? "

Her head sank lower. The two thorough-breds were amica
bly making acquaintance, regardless of the little drama which
was being enacted by their riders.

" Lily," — his head was bent very low, and the word thrilled
her heart like the low music of an unseen waterfall, — " Lily,
I asked your father to allow me to seek your love ; and he sent
me to learn my fate from your lips. What shall it be, Lily ?
Will you be mine?"

" O Melville ! I mean, Mr. " — she stammered hastily.

His arm was about her waist. She was half drawn from
her saddle, and bearded lips took tribute of her trembling
mouth, and eyes glowing with impassioned lovelight looked
down into hers, before she could protest. One instant she
yielded herself to the intoxication of young love. Then there
came a chilling fear, and she asked, with shuddering premoni
tion, —

322 A FOODS ERRAND.

" But your father, your parents, Mr. Gurney, — do they know
what you are — what you wish? "

"Yes."

" And do they — do they — approve?" hesitatingly.

"What matters that, darling? Your father does not object,
and I am of age," he answered, with something of defiance.

She freed herself at once from his embrace, and sat erect and
queenly in her saddle. He regarded her changed demeanor
with something of apprehension ; but he said lightly, —

"You have not given me my answer yet, Lily. What shall
it be ? Will you break my heart as well as my arm ? "

She looked frankly and unflinchingly into his eyes, and laid
her hand softly but firmly on his arm, as she replied in a
calm, even tone, —

"Melville — Mr. Gurney, there can be no thought of — of
what you wish, between us, so long as your father is opposed to
the course you have taken."

"But, Lily — Miss Servosse, you surely do not, you can
not, mean what you have said ! " he cried, in an agony of sur
prise and pain.

She merely turned, and looked into his eyes again, and made
no more reply. He knew then that she would adhere to her
resolution until death, if there were any need to do so. An
icy chill went through his frame. The joy seemed frozen out
of his countenance, and only a sad, hopeless hunger remained.
After a moment, he said huskily, —

"Will you tell me why, Lily ? "

" I can not, Melville," she answered. A little hope shot up
in his heart.

" I have waited a long time, Lily. I have tried in vain to
remove my father's objection. Is my duty alone to him, and
forever?"

" It is not your duty, Mr. Gurney, it is mine, that impels me
to say what I have."

" Your duty ? How can that be? What duty do you owe
my father ? "

"I can not tell you."

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 323

" Is it your duty, as you say, because you think I have failed
in mine ? "

"Not at all."

The horses had become impatient, and began to walk on.

" And you mean this to be final? " he asked half querulously.

She drew rein, and looked him full in the eye again.

"Melville Gurney," she said, "you know what I dared for
my father. I would dare even more for your sake ; but I can
not yield to your request, because your father objects, and
because — because I love my father !"

" Because you love your father? I can not understand. He
has not objected."

" So I am aware."

" You are pleased to deal in riddles." /

" I am sorry. "

They rode on a little way in silence. Then he stopped his
horse, and, raising his hat, said coolly, —

" I will bid you good-evening, Miss Lily."

Tears stood in her eyes as she leaned towards him, and laid
her hand upon his arm, and said, —

" Do not, Melville. You must not be angry with me. I am
sure I am doing right, but I can not explain. Let us go back
to Warrington. Be patient. All will be well ; and some time,
I am sure, you will approve my course."

How beautiful she looked as she pleaded for kindness ! But
her beauty only inflamed his anger. He seized her fiercely by
the arm. She did not shrink, though his grip was like steel,
and he knew that the slender arm would bear the marks of
his violence for many a day.

" Lily Servosse," he said passionately, " listen to me ! You
must — you shall be mine ! I swear that I will never wed
any one but you ! "

" I will take that oath with you, Melville Gurney," she re
plied seriously, " and seal it with a kiss."

She lifted up her face, and he pressed a kiss upon her
proffered lips.

" And now," she said gayly, as she wheeled her horse, " for
a gallop back to Warrington ! "

324 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

When they came in sight of her home she drew rein, and
he asked anxiously, —

" When shall I see you again ? "

" When your father sends you to me," she answered gayiy.

They said "good-evening" at the gate, and she watched
him through her tears as he rode away. She saw her father
standing at his library-door as she turned, and dashing up to
him she leaped into his arms, and was borne into the library.
With her head hidden in his breast she told him all, and more
than she had told her lover.

" Did I not do right, dear Papa? " she asked, when the story
was completed.

" God knows, my daughter ! " he replied solemnly ; and his
tears fell upon her blushing, upturned face as he kissed her,
but his own was lighted up with a rapturous joy, which was
an abundant answer.

Then he took her in his arms, and carried her up the steps
of the great house (thinking the meanwhile of the romping
girl whom he had first borne thither a dozen years before),
to the room where the still fair mother sat, and, placing one
upon either knee, repeated the story to her.

The setting sun looked in, and kissed their mingling tears
with golden light.

" Well," said General Gurney, with a tinge of sarcasjm, when
he met his son the next morning, "I suppose you accomplished
your errand ? "

" I saw Miss Lily Servosse," was the terse reply.

" And offered her your heart and hand ? " mockingly.

" I certainly did," was the emphatic answer.

"And was accepted with thanks, no doubt." The sneer was
intense by this time. " Really I " —

" Stop ! " said the son, turning on him a brow as haughty
as his own, and black with suppressed thunder. "You little
know whom you are deriding! Do I look like an accepted
lover? "

His father looked after him in open-mouthed wonder as he

UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER. 325

strode away. He felt for the first time, as he did so, that he
had fallen back from the foremost place. He was a part of
that ever-shrinking Old which the ever-increasing Xew is
perpetually overshadowing. His sight was not dimmed, his
arm was unshrunken ; but the life which had sprung from his
loins was stronger than he. He might be an equal for a time,
by the grace of filial love, but no more the guide and helper.
All at once he awoke to the fact that the world had moved
while he had been sleeping. For the first time he began to
doubt his own wisdom.

" Fanny," he said to his wife later in the day, in an in
credulous, querulous tone, "can it be that that — that — minx
has refused our Melville ? "

" So it seems," answered the good lady, about equally as
tounded at her husband's tone and the fact she announced.

" Confound their Yankee impudence ! Just think of a Gur-
ney jilted by a Yankee! It's like them, though, and I am
glad of it. It will teach the young fool to look at some of
our home girls."

"Don't think that," said the wife, with truer forecast.
" Melville will never marry any one else. He told me so
himself."

"Oh! he'll get over that."

" Some might ; but he will not. I'm almost sorry we opposed
him. It seems that, when she found that out, my lady was on
her dignity, and would not hear a word more."

" You don't say so ! " he exclaimed in surprise. " I declare,
I admire her pluck. There must be good blood about her. It
will teach the young rascal to despise his parents' wishes. I
never expected to think as well of her. She must be a rough,
coarse hoyden, from what I learn about her, though, — any
thing but a fit wife for Melville ! "

" I suppose so," assented the mother, with a sigh.

326 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XLIV.

PRIDE OVERMATCHING PRIDE.

FROM the night of her perilous ride, Young Lollard had
become the sole and separate property of Lily Servosse. In
acknowledgment and remembrance of that act, a decree had
gone forth at Warrington that none else should ride the care
fully nurtured horse but his young mistress, or such as she
might give express permission so to do. As the public interests
and duties of the father lessened, the old routine of rambling
rides about the country roads was resumed, — the father and
daughter becoming almost inseparable companions, the mother,
by reason of her added household cares, seldom accompanying
them. Sometimes, however, the daughter went alone.

It was on such an occasion, not long after the events of the
last chapter, that Lily one day came upon a pack of hounds
running on a hot trail in the low woods upon the left of the
road she was pursuing. Such a circumstance was by no means
uncommon in that region; and, though she had herself never
joined in a chase, yet she had so often listened to accounts of
them, and had so observed her father's keen relish of their
excitement the few times she had known him to engage in
them, that her pulses beat faster as the chase turned toward
the road, and grew faster and hotter, and the clamor wilder and
fiercer, every moment.

Young Lollard had been ridden to hounds a few times, and
had not forgotten the wonderful excitement of the chase. As
he heard it now sweeping towards him, he stopped and stood
like a statue, save for the tremor of delight which swept through
his frame at each new outburst of the clamorous music, and
the quivering ears, distended nostrils, and long deep suspira-
tions. Lily knew that he would not long remain so; and with
all her fearlessness as a horsewoman she did not quite relish

PRIDE OVERMATCHING PRIDE. 327

the idea of his bursting away through the low-branching second-
growth to follow the pack. She was very doubtful of her
power to restrain him. Half laughing, she thought of the
tattered plight she would soon be in should she fail to do so.
She saw her jaunty hat snatched by overhanging limbs, her
flowing habit hooked by thorn and brier, and perchance some of
her flowing locks caught like Absalom's. Yet she did not once
think of abandoning her seat. She braced herself for whatever
might come, determined, if not well satisfied of her power to
hold him back, to let him take his course rather than allow
him to suppose that he was able to do otherwise than as she
desired. Perhaps she was not entirely averse to trying one of
those dashes through the brush which she had so often heard
described when the trained horse needs no guidance; indeed,
none can be attempted, as he leaps with instinctive certainty
through the most available openings of the wood. She patted
the arched neck, and spoke in her most soothing tones, as the
chase drew nearer and nearer. All at once, and just as she
expected to see the pack come bursting from the copse upon
the roadside, their course changed sharply to the left, and they
swept clown a little ridge almost parallel with the road. Then
she gave her horse the rein, and he bounded forward with his
magnificent stride, almost abreast of the hunt, his eye and ear
alert for every indication of their presence.

The ridge which the chase was following ran about midway
between the road on which Lily was, and another into which
this led about half a mile from where she had stopped. Just
before reaching this road, the land sloped sharply towards it,
the ground was more open, and, beyond the road, fell away to a
wide bottom, stretching down to a creek with thick willow
margins and occasional patches of dense reeds. It was this
shelter that the chase was evidently striving to reach.

Lily felt all the surging frenzy of the huntsman as Young
Lollard tore along the slightly undulating road, and once or
twice found herself even urging him on, as she fancied the hunt
was gaining upon him. As she neared the intersection, she
heard a loud view-halloo upon the other road, and an instant

328 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

after, seeing the chase as he glided swiftly across an open space
in the copse, she returned it in her shrill treble as she had been
taught to do by her father. Hardly fifty yards behind him
came the pack ; and, as he dashed across the road into the open
ground leading down to the creek, they burst into a louder and
wilder chorus, and then, neck to neck, with short, impatient
yelps, the sinewy undulating backs rising and falling together,
one a length in advance, and one unfortunate fellow struggling
along in the rear, they swept across the smooth expanse of old
corn-rows down upon their prey.

So absorbed was Lily in the sight and in the exhilarating
motion of her horse, that she hardly noticed the horseman whose
view-halloo she had heard, but swept on unconscious of all but
the hunt, of which she had now become a part. She did dimly
notice a horseman who reached the intersection almost at the
same time, on a powerful gray, from whose long strides even
Young Lollard was able to draw away but little in the few hun
dred yards over which they flew before the race was ended.
The huntsman leaped down at once, and, dashing among the
hounds, rescued the chase before they had time to mutilate it,
and came towards Lily, holding up a magnificent specimen of
the red fox. He smoothed its rumpled coat, and displayed its
splendid brush, with the keen appreciation of the veteran
hunter, as he came forward, and held it up for her inspection,
exclaiming, —

" A fine fellow, Madam, and a splendid chase — at least, a
splendid burst at the end! And gallantly ridden, Madam,
allow me to say, gallantly ridden ! " He raised his hat as he
spoke, smiled pleasantly, and continued, " Allow me to present
this trophy, Madam, which few ladies have ever as fairly
earned. You were easily the first in at the death, though I
must confess that I most ungallantly pressed my horse when I
saw yours drawing away from him. We had about an even
start at the road, and I was greatly chagrined at not being able
to keep neck and neck with you. That is a splendid animal
you'have," he added after he had hung the fox to her saddle.
" I did not think there was a horse in this region that could
distance mine."

PRIDE OVERMATCHING PRIDE. 329

He motioned towards his horse ; and Lily knew at a glance
that it was the same gray which was indelibly photographed
upon her memory, which had brought the messenger who gave
warning of her father's peril, and the lover who sought her
hand in vain, although he had borne away her heart.

"This, then, is Melville's father, the man who stands be
tween us and happiness," she said to herself, as she turned her
gaze upon him, conscious that her cheeks were flushed even
beyond what the excitement of the chase would justify.

She saw a tall, haughty-faced man, in whose eye there was
no indecision, and whose firm-shut lips confirmed the judgment
instinctively made up from eye and brow. The close-clipped
beard and slightly-curling hair were of the same rich brown
as his son's, but streaked here and there with gray. In form
and feature his son closely resembled him, softened in outline,
and perhaps somewhat less formal and austere in manner.
Despite the feeling of injustice which had rankled in her
bosom toward this man since she knew of the objection which
he had interposed to her union with his favorite son, she could
not avoid a feeling of pride in the father of her lover. While
she made these observations, he had been scanning, with the
eye of a connoisseur, the proportions of Young Lollard, and
remarking upon his excellences. The hounds were stretched
about, lolling in utter exhaustion, or wallowing and drinking
in the creek near by.

" A splendid horse, Madam, and finely bred. He has a look
which I ought to remember, though I can not recall where I
have seen it. Not a stock often met with here. Somewhat
more of bone than our thorough-breds usually show. You know
his stock, of course, Madam. No one could ride such a horse,
and ride him as you do, without appreciating his qualities.
Let me see," he continued, without waiting for reply, and step
ping back a pace or two, so as to get the ensemble of the horse
more readily, "he is like — no — yes, he is very like — Colonel
Servosse's Lollard."

" And he is Young Lollard," said Lily.

The man raised his eyes quickly to her face, and let them

330 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

fall, with careful scrutiny of her dress and figure, to the horsft
again, as he said musingly, —

" Ah, yes ! I remember his telling me about the colt. By a
Glencoe dam, I think he said."

" Yes," assented Lily.

" And you ? " he asked, looking her full in the face.

"I am Lily Servosse," she answered, in tones as calm as his
own.

" So I inferred," he responded. " The Colonel has reason to
be proud, both of his daughter and his horse," he added, with
quiet approval in his voice. " And I am General Gurney.
Allow me to introduce myself, Miss Lily, and wish for our
better acquaintance." He doffed his hat again, and watched
her keenly, as he extended his hand. Her countenance did
not change, and she said, with the utmost composure, —

" Thank you. I had inferred as much."

He smiled at this echo of his own words, and said, looking
at his own horse, " Indeed ! You have seen him before, I
suppose ? "

"Twice."

" Yes. That reminds me, Miss Lily, that I am your debtor
for refusing the offer of my son's hand, not long since. It
se.ems a queer thing to thank one for ; and, now that I have
seen you," he added pleasantly, " I can not wonder that he
made the tender. At his age, I am almost certain I should
have risked a like fate."

"Not unless the horse were to be my dowry, I am afraid,"
she retorted mischievously.

"Well," said he, laughing, "the pair should not be sepa
rated, But seriously," he added, "I arn thankful for your
rejection of his suit, and hope I may express it without oft'ense.
I am not surprised that he should become enamoured of one
having such charms, nor surprised at his chagrin ; but you
must know, Miss Lily, parents will form plans for their chil
dren, and we had especially fixed ou- h "arts upon another wife
for Melville. I am afraid he may t ue your refusal so much
to heart, that we shall miss having a daughter at all ; though
it may help him to overcome his attachment."

PRIDE OVERMATCHING PRIDE. 331

" But I did not refuse him, General Gurney," she said, with
quiet candor.

" You did not refuse him ? I understood him to say that he
had been refused ; or at least his mother so informed me,"
he responded with surprise.

" I told him," Lily replied to his questioning tone and sur
prised look, " that, so long as his father was opposed to it, there
could be nothing looking towards marriage between us."

" And why did you make that condition V " he asked in
surprise. " Such regard for the filial duty of a lover is not
usual with our American ladies."

" I refused to explain to Melville," she replied, "but you have
a right to inquire. There was little or no thought of his filial
duty in it. I simply felt it a duty which I owed to you myself."

"How, to me? I do not understand," he said, with a
puzzled look.

"Because you sent the warning which saved my father's
life," she answered steadily.

He started, and flushed to his temples.

" You infer that also ! " he said sharply. " From what, may
I ask ? "

" Your younger son brought it, riding upon that horse," she
said, pointing to Reveille.

" And that warning caused you to try a perilous ride," said he.

" Which I was only too happy to undertake," she responded
quickly.

" And did you not think it was cowardly and mean for me to
leave it for you to thwart that horrible scheme ? " he asked.

" I had never thought of it in that light," she answered
musingly.

" I have often, since ; and have thoroughly despised my
weakness. I even tried to conceal the fact that I had given
the warning. I have never told any one, not even the boy who
bore the message."

"I have only told my father," she said simply.

" And you refused my son's addresses solely on account o|
that fact ? " he asked musingly,

332 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"The question is hardly a fair one," she answered, for the
first time somewhat confused.

"I beg pardon," he said quickly. "You are right. I have
no right to ask that question. I withdraw it."

" No, General Gurney," said Lily, looking at him earnestly,
"I will conceal nothing from you. I refused to accede to his
request that we should be engaged, for that reason alone."

" And your father — does he know? "

" I have been as frank with him as with you."

" And he approves ? "

"Most heartily."

" Miss Lily " —

There was the blast of a horn, and a half-dozen horsemen
dashed into sight upon the road by which the general had come.

" Yo-ho-o-o! " he shouted quickly, in reply, adding briefly to
her, " There is my friend Morrow. I thought these were his
dogs. I stumbled on the hunt, as well as you."

The horsemen were at hand by the time he had finished this
remark. Introductions and explanations followed. Morrow
gave a history of the run. The general gave a vivid recital
of the capture. Compliments were showered profusely upon
Lily; and Morrow accepted her invitation to ugo by" her
father's house, and dine with them, as it was upon his way
home. Greetings were exchanged ; and, under the escort of
the fresh -hearted old fox-hunter, Lily returned to Warrington.

" I declare, Colonel," was his final comment as he rode
away after dinner, "some of our fine young fellows must
make a run for that gal of yours. Ding my buttons if she
ain't more Southern than any of our own gals ! It won't do
for such a gal as that to go North for a husband. It would
be n pity, I swear, to let her marry a Yankee ! Jt mustn't be,
Colonel. I shall send some one to prevent such a calamity."

" Too late, Morrow," said Servosse briskly. " She leaves
for the North on Monday, and takes Young Lollard with
her."

" You don't say ! " exclaimed the old man ruefully. " Well,
they'll never let her come back, that's certain : they've too

PRIDE OVERMATCHING PRIDE. 333

much sense for that. Gal and hoss both ! Well, I swear it's
a shame."

After much consideration, it had been decided that Warring-
ton should be closed for a year; that Lily should go to a
Northern city to pursue certain studies for which she had
developed a peculiar aptitude ; and that her mother should
accompany her. Colonel Servosse proposed to pass a portion
of the time with them, and to devote the rest to certain busi
ness matters which would necessarily require his absence dur
ing a considerable portion of the year. The next summer it
was proposed to spend a couple of months at Warrington, and
then leave it, — perhaps for good, at least for a prolonged
absence.

It was at Lily's special request that this return to Warring-
ton had been made a part of the family programme. While
she had not once faltered in the resolution she had formed,
she looked confidently for the time to come when General Gur-
ney should relent. She did not for a moment distrust the
constancy of her banished lover, and hardly repined at the
fate which separated them, so confident was she that he would
return. In the mean time she applied herself with still greater
zest to study, counting every acquisition which she made as
one more attraction which she would be able to offer Melville
Gurney in compensation for his long probation. The autumn
leaves were falling when the Fool and his family bade adieu
to their Southern home.

A week afterwards Marion Gurney rode up to the gate, and,
hailing the deserted house, was told by the faithful Andy, who
with his wife had been left in charge of the house and grounds,
that "de Kunnel an' all de folks had done gone ISTorf."

" When will they return? " asked Gurney.

"Wai, sah, I don't 'How as ever," said Andy. "Dey talks
'bout comin' back h'yer fer a little time nex summer; but I
specs dey'll be habbin' sech good times dar, an' fine so many
freris in de Norf, dey'll quite forgit dis pore, mean country
whar dey's hed so much to contend wid, an' jes' keep on stay in'
dar. What makes me tink so more'n all de res' is, dat Miss

334 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

Lily's tuk Young Lollard. Ef dat boss hed only staid, I'd
felt sure she was comin' back."

" Well," soliloquized General Gurney as he rode homeward,
"I reckon it's just as well. I liked the girl mightily, that's a
fact ; but she's a Yankee, after all. I wish Melville never had
seen her. I had made up my mind, though, to eat humble pie,
and tell her I withdrew my opposition. I can't bear to see
him going round so rnoody and solemn, when he used to be so
bright and cheery. Perhaps, now that she's gone, he'll think
better of it, and give her up. I hope so, anyhow.

" Servosse, too, wasn't a bad sort of a man. I used to wish
I was better acquainted with him, and really suppose I ought
to have exerted myself to make it homelike for him here. He
must have had a dull life of it. But then he was so awfully
radical in his Northern notions ! He ought never to have
come here, that's the truth of the matter. Nobody can force
Northern ideas on the South. The soil and climate don't take
to them kindly. It's like Northern farming in a piney old-
field, — looks well enough, but don't pay. I'm sure I wish him
well, and Miss Lily too. She's just the girl I'd like Melville
to marry, if she wasn't a Yankee, and her daddy wasn't a
Radical. I reckon he'll forget her now. I hope so, at least."

He sighed as he rode on ; but his wish proved abortive.
Melville Gurney was seized with a passion for travel as soon
as he heard of the hegira from Warrington; and, strangely
enough, his footsteps led him to the same city where Lily was
studying, with her heart full of dreams of his coming. More
than once, as the months flew by, she turned hastily in the
crowded thoroughfares with the feeling that his eye was upon
her. A few times she thought she saw a familiar figure in
the crowd ; and her heart would beat fast while her eye sought
to catch the loved outlines- again. Then she would go on with
a light laugh, well pleased that her heart attested its faithful
ness by a fond self-deception.

Melville soon became conscious of the true state of affairs,
and determined not to be outdone in steadfastness. So he
made no sign, but studied the great city that opened its

WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER. 335

myriad-paged book of life before him, and learned many a
rare lesson which the insular exclusiveness of the South could
never teach.

Thus the lovers waited ; but the father, irritated at his son's
course, said, " If he wants to make a fool of himself over that
little Yankee, let him go."

CHAPTER XLV.

WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER.

IT was shortly after the rupture of his home-life and his
departure from Warrington, that Servosse visited, by special
invitation, Doctor Enos Martin, the ancient friend who had been
at first his instructor, and afterward his revered and trusted
counselor. In the years which had elapsed since the Fool
had seen him, he had passed from a ripe manhood of surpass
ing vigor into that riper age which comes without weakness,
but which, nevertheless, brings not a little of philosophic calm,
— that true "sunset of life which gives mystical lore." It is
in those calm years which come before the end, when ambition
is dead, and aspiration ceases ; when the restless clamor of busy
life sweeps by unheeded as the turmoil of the crowded thor
oughfare by the busy worker; when the judgment acts calmly,
unbiased by hope or fear, — it is in these declining years that
the best work of the best lives is usually done. The self which
makes the balance waver is dead ; but the heart, the intellect,
the keen sympathy with that world which is fast slipping
away, remain, and the ripened energies act without the waste
fulness of passion. It was in this calm brightness which pre
cedes the twilight, that Erios Martin sat down to converse with
the man, now rugged and mature, whom he had watched while
he grew from youth into manhood, and from early manhood to
its maturity. A score of years had passed since they had met.

336 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

To the one, these years had been full of action. He had been
in the current, had breasted its buffetings, and been carried
away out of the course which he had marked out for himself
on life's great chart, by its cross-currents and counter-eddies.
He had a scar to show for every struggle. His heart had
throbbed in harmony with the great world-pulse in every one
of the grand purposes with which it had swelled during those
years. The other had watched with keenest apprehension
those movements which had veered and whirled about in their
turbid currents the life of the other, himself but little moved,
but ever seeking to draw what lessons of value he might from
such observation, for the instruction and guidance of other
young souls who were yet but skirting the shore of the great
sea of life.

This constant and observant interest in the great social
movements of the world which he overlooked from so serene
a height had led him to note with peculiar care the relations
of the nation to the recently subjugated portion of the South,
and more especially the conditions of the blacks. In so doing,
he had been led to consider especially that transition period
which comes between Chattelism, or some form of individual
subordination and dependence, and absolute individual auton
omy. This is known by different names in different lands and
ages, — villenage in England, serfdom in Russia. In regard to
this, his inquiries had been most profound, and his interest
in all those national questions had accordingly been of the
liveliest character : hence his keen desire to see his old pupil,
and to talk with one in whom he had confidence as an ob
server, in regard to the phenomena he had witnessed and the
conclusions at which he had arrived, and to compare the same,
not only with his own more remote observations, but also with
the facts of history. They sat together for a long time in the
library where the elder had gathered the intellectual wealth
of the world and the ages, and renewed the personal knowl
edge of each other which a score of years had interrupted.
The happenings of the tumultuous life, the growth of the
quiet one, were both recounted; and then their conversation

WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER. 337

drifted to that topic which had engrossed so much of the
thought of both, — that great world-current of which both
lives were but unimportant incidents.

"And so," said the elder gravely, "you think, Colonel Ser-
vosse, that what has been termed Reconstruction is a magnifi
cent failure? "

" Undoubtedly," was the reply, " so far as concerns the at
tainment of the result intended by its projectors, expected by
the world, and to be looked for as a logical sequence of the
war."

"I do not know that I fully understand your limitation,"
said Martin doubtfully.

"I mean," said the younger man, "that Reconstruction was
a failure so far as it attempted to unify the nation, to make
one people in fact of what had been one only in name before
the convulsion of civil war. It was a failure, too, so far as
it attempted to fix and secure the position and rights of the
colored race. They were fixed, it is true, on paper, and
security of a certain sort taken to prevent the abrogation of
that formal declaration. No guaranty whatever was provided
against their practical subversion, which was accomplished
with an ease and impunity that amazed those who instituted
the movement."

" You must at least admit that the dogma of * State Rights '
was settled by the war and by that system of summary and
complete national control over the erring commonwealths
which we call Reconstruction," said Martin.

" On the contrary," answered Servosse, " the doctrine of
' State Rights ' is altogether unimpaired and untouched by
what has occurred, except in one particular; to wit, the right of
peaceable secession. The war settled that. The Nation asserted
its right to defend itself against disruption."

"Did it not also assert its right to re-create, to make over, to
reconstruct ?" asked the elder man.

" Not at all," was the reply. " Reconstruction was never
asserted as a right, at least not formally and authoritatively.
Some did so affirm; but they were accounted visionaries. The

338 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

act of reconstruction was excused as a necessary sequence of the
failure of attempted secession : it was never defended or pro
mulgated as a right of the nation, even to secure its own safety."

" Why, then, do you qualify the declaration of failure? " asked
Martin. " It seems to me to have been absolute and complete."

" Not at all," answered Servosse with some vehemence, " A
great deal was gained by it. Suppose a child does wrong a
hundred times, is reproved for it each time, and only at the last
reproof expresses sorrow, and professes a desire to do better,
and the very next day repeats the offense. The parent does
not despair, nor count the repentance as nothing gained. On
the contrary, a great step has been made : the wrong has been
admitted, and is thereafter without excuse. Thenceforward,
Nathan-like, the parent can point the offender to his own judg
ment on his own act. So Reconstruction was a great step in
advance, in that it formulated a confession of error. It gave
us a construction of ' we the people ' in the preamble of our
Federal Constitution which gave the lie to that which had
formerly prevailed. It recognized and formulated the univer
sality of manhood in governmental power, and, in one phase or
another of its development, compelled the formal assent of all
sections and parties."

" And is this all that has been gained by all these years of
toil and struggle and blood? " asked the old man with a sigh.

"Is it not enough, my friend? " replied the Fool, with a re
proachful tone. "Is not almost a century of falsehood and
hypocrisy cheaply atoned by a decade of chastisement? The
confession of error is the hardest part of repentance, whether in
a man or in a nation. It is there the Devil always makes his
strongest fight. After that, he has to come down out of the
mountain, and fight in the valley. He is wounded, crippled,
and easily put to rout."

" You do not regard the struggle between the North and the
South as ended, then," said Martin.

"Ended?" ejaculated the Fool sharply. "It is just begun!
I do not mean the physical tug of war between definitely de
fined sections. That is a mere incident of a great underlying

WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER. 339

struggle, — a conflict which is ever going on between two antago
nistic ideas. It was like a stream with here and there an
angry rapid, before the war; then, for a time, it was like a
foaming cascade ; and since then it has been the sullen, dark,
but deep and quiet whirlpool, which lies below the fall, full
of driftwood and shadows, and angry mutterings, and unseen
currents, and hidden forces, whose farther course no one can
foretell, only that it must go on.

' The deepest ice that ever froze
Can only o'er the river close:
The living stream lies quick below,
And flows — and can not cease to flow! ' "

" Do you mean to say that the old battle between freedom
and slavery was not ended by the extinction of slavery? " asked
the doctor in surprise.

" I suppose it would be," answered the Fool, with a hint of
laughter in his tones, " if slavery were extinct. I do not mean
to combat the old adage that ' it takes two to make a quarrel ; *
but that is just where our mistake — the mistake of the North,
for the South has not made one in this matter — has been.
We have assumed that slavery was dead, because we had a Proc
lamation of Emancipation, a Constitutional Amendment, and
* laws passed in pursuance thereof,' all reciting the fact that
involuntary servitude, except for crime, should no more exist.
Thereupon, we have thrown up our hats, and crowed lustily for
what we had achieved, as we had a good right to do. The
Antislavery Society met, and congratulated itself on the accom
plishment of its mission, on having no more worlds to conquer,
no more oppression to resist, and no more victims to succor.
And thereupon, in the odor of its self-laudation, it dissolved its
own existence, dying full of good works, and simply for the
want of more good works to be done. It was an end that
smacks of the millennium ; but, unfortunately, it was farcical
in the extreme. I don't blame Garrison and Phillips and your
self, and all the others of the old guard of abolitionists. It
was natural that you should at least wish to try on your laurels
while alive."

340 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

"Really, Colonel," said the old doctor laughingly, "you must
not think that was our motive."

" Not confessedly, nor consciously of course," said the Fool.
" Real motives are rarely formulated. I don't wonder, though,
that men who had been in what our modern slang denominates
the 'racket' of the antislavery reform should be tired. I
fully realize that a life-time of struggle takes away a man's
relish for a fight. Old men never become missionaries. Being
in a conflict of ideas, they may keep up the fight till the last
minute and the last breath. Old men have made good martyrs
ever since Polycarp's day; but they don't long for martyrdom,
nor advertise for it. If it is just as convenient to avoid it, they
prefer to do so ; and in this case they certainly deserved a rest,
and more honor and glory than they will ever get, alive or dead.

" It was our fault, — the then youngsters who had just corne
out of the furnace-fire in which the shackles were fused and
melted away from the cramped and shriveled limbs. We
ought to have seen and known that only the shell was gone.
Slavery as a formal state of society was at an end: as
a force, a power, a moral element, it was just as active as
before. Its conscious evils were obliterated: its unconscious
ones existed in the dwarfed and twisted natures which had
been subjected for generations to its influences, — master and
slave alike. As a form of society, it could be abolished by
proclamation and enactment : as a moral entity, it is as inde
structible as the souls on which it has left its mark."

"You think the 'irrepressible conflict' is yet confronting us,
then? " said Martin.

"Undoubtedly. The North and the South are simply con
venient names for two distinct, hostile, and irreconcilable
ideas, — two civilizations they are sometimes called, especially
at the South. At the North there is somewhat more of intel
lectual arrogance; and we are apt to speak of the one as civili
zation, and of the other as a species of barbarism. These two
must always be in conflict until the one prevails, and the other
falls. To uproot the one, and plant the other in its stead, is
not the work of a moment or a day. That was our mistake.

wrsnonf AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER. 341

We tried to superimpose the civilization, the idea of the North,
upon the South at a moment's warning. We presumed, that,
by the suppression of rebellion, the Southern white man had
become identical with the Caucasian of the North in thought
ftnd sentiment; and that the slave, by emancipation, had
become a saint and a Solomon at once. So we tried to build
up communities there which should be identical in thought,
sentiment, growth, and development, with those of the North.
It was A FOOL'S ERKAND."

" On which we all ran, eh? '? laughed the doctor.

" Precisely," answered Servosse sententiously.

"I am not sure but you are right," said the elder. " It looks
like it now, and every thing which has happened is certainly
consistent with your view. But, leaving the past, what have
you to say of the future? "

"Well," answered Servosse thoughtfully, "the battle must
be fought out. If there is to remain one nation on the terri
tory we now occupy, it must be either a nation unified in senti
ment and civilization, or the one civilization must dominate
and control the other. As it stands now, that of the South is
the most intense, vigorous, and aggressive. The power of the
recent slave has been absolutely neutralized. The power of
the Southern whites has been increased by exactly two-fifths
of the colored adults, who were not counted in representation
before the war. Upon all questions touching the nation and
its. future they are practically a unit, and are daily growing
more and more united as those who once stood with us suc
cumb to age or the force of their surroundings."

" But will not that change with immigration? Will not the
two sections gradually mix and modify?" asked the doctor
anxiously.

,/^ " Immigration to the South will in the future, as in the past,
! be very scattering and trivial, hardly an element worth consid
ering. There are many reasons for this. In the first place,
the South does not welcome immigration. Not that it is abso
lutely hostile, nor intolerant beyond endurance, except upon
\ political subjects; but it has been exclusive until it has lost the

342 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

power of assimilation; and the immigrant never becomes part
and parcel of the people with whom he dwells. His children
may do so sometimes, but not always. The West takes a
stranger by the hand, and in a day makes him feel at home, —
that he is of the people with whom he dwells. The South
may greet him as cordially as the Orient welcomes the Cau
casian trader, but, like the Orient, still makes him feel that
he is an ' outside barbarian.' Besides that, the South has no
need for mere labor, and the material success of those who have
gone there since the war has not been such as to induce many
others to follow."

" But why do you think the South more likely to rule than
the more populous and more enterprising North V "

"Because they are thoroughly united, and are instinctive,
natural rulers. They are not troubled with scruples, nor do
they waste their energies upon frivolous and immaterial issues.
They are monarchical and kinglike in their characteristics.
Each one thinks more of the South than of himself, and any
thing which adds to her prestige or glory is dearer to him than
any personal advantage. The North thinks the Southern
people are especially angry because of the loss of slave-property:
in truth, they are a thousand times more exasperated by the
elevation of the freed negro to equal political power. The
North is disunited : a part will adhere to the South for the
sake of power; and, just as before the civil war, the South will
again dominate and control the nation."

" And when will this end? " asked the elder man, with a sigh
of weariness.

" When the North learns to consider facts, and not to senti
mentalize ; or when the South shall have worked out the prob
lem of race-conflict in her own borders, by the expiration or
explosion of a system of unauthorized and illegal serfdom.
The lords of the soil are the lords of the labor still, and will
so remain until the laborers have grown, through the lapse of
generations, either intelligent or desperate."

" Ah ! my young friend," said the old man, with a glow of
pride iu his countenance, " there you are coining upon my

WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER. 343

ground, and, I must say, striking at my fears for the future too.
The state of the newly-enfranchised freedmen at the South is
most anomalous and remarkable. I can not help regarding it
with apprehension. There are but few cases in history of an
enslaved race leaping at once from absolute chattelism to com
plete self-rule. Perhaps the case of the ancient Israelites
affords the closest analogy. Yet in their case, under divine
guidance, two things were found necessary : First, an exodus
which took them out from among the race which had been
their masters, away from the scenes and surroundings of
slavery ; and, second, the growth of a new generation who had
never known the lash of the task-master, nor felt in their own
persons the degradation of servitude. The flight from Egypt,
the hardships of the wilderness, the forty years of death and
growth away from and beyond the ken of the Egyptian, all
were necessary to fit the children of Israel for self-government
and the exercise of national power, even without the direct and
immediate interposition of divine aid and the daily recurrence
of miraculous signs and wonders. Can the African slave of
America develop into the self-governing citizen, the co-ordi
nate of his white brother in power, with less of preparation? "

" The analogy of the Israelitish people is so striking, that it
seems to recur to almost every mind," said Servosse. " It is a
favorite one with the colored people themselves. The only
important difference which I can see is the lack of a religious
element, — the want of a prophet."

" That is the very thing! " said the old Doctor, with anima
tion. "Do you know that I doubt very much whether there
was any special religious element in the minds of the Jewish
people at that time? They did not leave Egypt, nor venture
into the wilderness, because of religious persecution, or attach
ment to their faith. Those were things which came after
wards, both in point of time and in the sequence of their
growth and development. It was to the feeling of servitude,
the idea of oppression, that the twin-founders of the Judaic
empire, Moses and Aaron, appealed, in order to carry their
religious idea into effect. The Israelites followed them, not

344 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

because they were their religious leaders, but because they
promised relief from Egyptian bondage. The instinct of the
slave is to flee from the scene of servitude when his soul
begins to expand with the aspirations of independent manhood.
That this spirit has not manifested itself before, in our case,
I think a matter of surprise : that it will come hereafter, 1
fear is a certainty. I can not see how a race can become pre
pared for absolute autonomy, real freedom, except by the
gradual process of serfdom or villenage, or by the scath and
tribulation of the sojourn in the wilderness, or its equivalent of
isolated self-support, by which individual self-reliance, and col
lective hardihood and daring, may be nourished and confirmed."

" They are likely to have their forty years," said Servosse,
"and to leave more than one generation in the wilderness,
before they regain the rights which were promised them, and
which they for a little time enjoyed."

"Yes," said the elder, "there is another dangerous element.
They have tasted liberty, full and complete; and the loss of
that, even by indirection, will add to the natural antipathy of
the freedrnan'for the associations and surroundings of his
servitude. I very greatly fear that this unrest is inseparable
from the state of suddenly-acquired freedom; and that, ani
mated by both these feelings, the race may attempt an exodus
which will yet upset all our finely-spun theories, and test, at
our very doors, the humanitarianism of which we boast. What
do you think of it, Colonel? "

" Honestly, Doctor, I can not tell you," answered Servosse.
" That such a feeling exists is beyond question. There is
something marvelous and mysterious in the history of the
African race in America, too, which appeals most powerfully
to the superstitious mysticism which prevails among them.
Brought here against their will ; forced to undergo the harsh
tutelage of slavery in sight and sound of the ceaseless service
our nation offers up to liberty; mastering in two hundred
years of slavery the rudiments of civilization, the alphabet of
religion, of law, of mechanic art, the secrets of husbandry, and
the necessity and reward of labor; freed almost without exer-

WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER. 345

tion upon their part, and entirely without their independent
and intelligent co-operation, — with all this of history before
their eyes, it is not strange they should consider themselves
the special pets of Providence, — a sort of chosen people. This
chapter of miracles, as they account these wonderful happen
ings, is always present to the fervid fancies of the race; and,
while it has hitherto inclined them to inaction, would be a
powerful motive, should it once come, to act in concert with a
conviction that their future must be laid in a region remote
from the scene of their past. If they were of the same stock as
the dominant race, there might be a chance for the line of sepa-
tion to disappear with the lapse of time. Marked as they are
by a different complexion, and one. which has long been
accounted menial and debased, there is no little of truth in the
sad refrain of their universal story, ' Niggers never can have a
white man's chance here.'"

"But what can be done for their elevation and relief, or to
prevent the establishment of a mediaeval barbarism in our
midst? " asked the doctor anxiously.

" Well, Doctor," said the Fool jocosely, "that question is for
some one else to answer, and it must be answered in deeds, too,
and not in words. I have given the years of my manhood to
the consideration of these questions, and am accounted a fool
in consequence. It seems to me that the cure for these evils is
in a nutshell. The remedy, however, is one that must be
applied from the outside. The sick man can not cure himself.
The South will never purge itself of the evils which affect it. •
Its intellect, its pride, its wealth, in short, its power, is all
arrayed against even the slow and tedious development which
time and semi-barbarism would bring. Hour by hour, the
chains will be riveted c*loser. Look at the history of slavery.in
v^ur land! See how the law-makers, the courts, public senti
ment, and all the power of the land, grew year by year more
harsh and oppressive on the slave and his congener, the 'free
person of color,1 in all the slave States! I see you remember it,
old friend. In direct conflict with all the predictions of states
men, the thumb-screws of oppression were given a new and

346 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

sharper turn with every passing year. The vestiges of liberty
and right were shred away by legislative enactment, and the
loop-holes of mercy closed by judicial construction, until only
the black gulf of hopeless servitude remained."

"I see the prospect, and admit the truth of your prevision;
but I do not get your idea of a remedy," said the elder man
doubtfully.

" Well, you see that the remedy is not from within," said
the Fool. " The minority knows its power, and the majority
realizes its weakness so keenly as to render that impossible.
That which has made bulldozing possible renders progress im
possible. Then it seems to me that the question is already
answered, — It must be from witlioui ! "

" But how? " queried the old man impatiently.

" How '? " said the Fool. " I am amazed that you do not see ;
that the country will not see ; or rather, that, seeing, they will
let the ghost of a dogma, which rivers of blood have been shed
to lay, frighten them from adopting the course which lies before
us, broad and plain as the king's highway: The remedy for
darkness is light ; for ignorance, knowledge ; for wrong, righteous
ness."

" True enough as an abstraction, my friend; but how shall it
be reduced to practice?" queried his listener.

" The Nation nourished and protected slavery. The fruitage
of slavery has been the ignorant freedman, the ignorant poor-
white man, and the arrogant master. The impotence of the
freedman, the ignorance of the poor-white, the arrogance of the
late master, are all the result of national power exercised in
restraint of free thought, free labor, and free speech. Now, let
the Nation undo the evil it has permitted and encouraged. Let
it -educate those whom it made ignorant, and protect those
whom it made weak. It is not a matter of favor to the black,
but of safety to the Nation. Make the spelling-book the
scepter of national power. Let the Nation educate the colored
man and the poor-white man because the Nation held them in
bondage, and is responsible for their education; educate the
voter because the Nation can not aiford that he should be ig-

WISDOM AND FOLLY MEET TOGETHER. 347

norant. Do not try to shuffle off the responsibility, nor. cloak
the danger. Honest ignorance in the masses is more to be
dreaded than malevolent intelligence in the few. It furnished
the rank and file of rebellion and the prejudice-blinded multi
tudes who made the Policy of Repression effectual. Poor-
Whites, Freedmen, Ku-Klux, and Bulldozers are all alike the
harvest of ignorance. The Nation can not afford to grow such
a crop."

"But how," asked the doctor, ''shall these citizens of the
States be educated by the Government without infringement of
the rights of the States? "

" Ah, my good old friend ! " said Servosse, rising, and placing
a hand upon the other's shoulder, " I will leave you, now that
you have brought out for me to worship that Juggernaut of
American politics by which so many hecatombs have been
crushed and mangled. This demon required a million lives
before he would permit -slavery to be abolished: perhaps as
many more would induce him to let the fettered souls be
unbound and made free."

" You are bitter, my son," said the old man, rising also, and
looking into his companion's eyes with a glance of calm
reproof. " Do not indulge that spirit. Be patient, and remem
ber that you would have felt just as we of your native North
now feel, but for the glare of slumbering revolution in which
you have lived. The man who has been in the crater ought
not to wonder at his calmness who has only seen the smoke. I
have often thought that St. Paul would have been more for
bearing with his Jewish brethren if he had always kept in
mind the miracle required for his own conversion."

" Perhaps you are right, Doctor," said the Fool; " but ought
not something also be allowed to the zeal of the poor old Jonah
who disturbed the slumbers of Nineveh? At any rate, I leave
your question for the Wise Men to answer. I will only say
two words about it. The South — that psewlo South which
has the power — does not wish this thing to be done to her peo
ple, and will oppose it with might and main. If done at all, it
must be done by the North — by the Nation moved, instigated,

348 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

and controlled by the North, T mean — in its own self-defense.
Jt must be an act of sovereignty, an exercise of power. The
Nation expected the liberated slave to be an ally of freedom.
It was altogether right and proper that it should desire and
expect this. But it made the fatal mistake of expecting the
freedman to do successful battle on his part of the line, with'
out training or knowledge. This mistake must be remedied.
As to the means, I feel sure that when the Nation has smarted
enough for its folly, it will find a way to undo the evil, whether
the State-Rights Moloch stand in the way, or not."

CHAPTER XLVL

HOME AT LAST.

THE year had nearly passed; and Comfort Servosse re
turned to Warrington a little in advance of the time set for
his family to come, in order to see that the place was duly
prepared for their reception.

He had been engaged by a company of capitalists to take
charge of their interests in one of the republics of Central
America. The work was of the most important character, not
only to the parties having a pecuniary interest therein, but also
as having a weighty bearing upon that strange contest be
tween civilization and semi-barbarism which is constantly being
waged in that wonderfully strange region, where Nature seems
to have set her subtlest forces in battle-array against what, in
these modern times, is denominated "progress." While the
earth produces in an abundance unknown to other regions,
the mind seems stricken with irresistible lassitude, and only
the monitions of sense seem able to awaken the body from
lethargic slumber.

The struggle suited his adventurous nature, and the enter
prise afforded scope for his powers of projection and organize

HOME AT LAST. 349

tion. He had returned only to fulfill the family compact, and
meant, when the months of respite were over, to take back his
household to a mountain villa in that land of the sun where
the delights of nature are so sweetly blended, and incessantly
varied, and its extremes so tempered by the concurring in
fluences of wind and wave and mountain-heights, that the
traveler wonders if the Fountain of Youth and the Aiden of
sinless bliss are not yet to be found amid its enchantments.

On his return, he had to pass through that belt in the South
ern States, where science is periodically called upon to wage
unsuccessful warfare with that most inscrutable form of dis
ease, that plague, which mocks at human skill. Two or three,
upon whose brows the fell destroyer had already set his brazen
seal, had been taken from the very train which brought him
northward towards Warrington. He had wondered at the
mystery before which science is as powerless as superstition,
as he saw them borne from the train, which sped on its hurried
way as if fleeing from the pestilence. He had seen, wondered,
and swept on, thinking no more of the strange, sad fact of
inexplicable doom.

It was the second morning after his return to Warrington.
The day before, oppressed with the lassitude which always
follows a long journey, he had wandered aimlessly about the
familiar grounds. The colored people had gathered to wel
come him, asking and answering a thousand interrogatories.
In little groups of four arid five they had dropped in on the
way to church (for it was the Sabbath) and on their return.
All day long he had been repeatedly called on to rack his
memory in order to recognize some once familiar face. Andy
and his good wife were in a seventh heaven of delight. Old
Lollard had recognized his master's whistle, and stiff with age,
and almost blind, had followed him with sad pertinacity
from place to place in the grounds. The house, the library,
the lawn, were alive with pleasant memories of the loved ones
whom he was soon to meet. His old neighbors dropped in:
Eyebright and Nelson; John Burleson, still clamorous and
insubordinate; the irrepressible Vaughn, still vaporing and

350 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

effusive, but kindly flavored at the core ; Durfee and Dawson,
and a hundred more, — came to shake his hand, and chat of
that past which was full of the shades of others whom they
would greet no more, and waken memories of those days when
his heart-strings were bound so close around a grand idea,
which had yielded, as it seemed, only a Sodom-like fruitage of
ashen words.

/ The night had found him sad and weary, his heart full of

f grateful tears for the pleasant greetings he had received, and

fuller yet of tenderer tears for those whose greetings he had

I missed. He longed more than ever for the coming of his

loved ones, and for the lapse of the brief period allotted for

his stay amid the old familiar scenes. It was no longer home,

but only the sepulcher of a dead past, whose joys had flitted

with its sorrows, and brought but the sadness of the grave

into his heart as they swept by in the funereal ghastliness of

shadowy unreality.

When he woke in the morning, he felt a lethargic sensation,
which he tried in vain to throw off. There were dull, heavy
pains about the head, too, and sharp, shooting ones here and
there in chest and limb. His feet dragged wearily. There
was a burning sensation somewhere, he could not tell exactly
where. He thought he would try a bath, and Andy prepared
him one, — a great tub of the sparkling spring-water which
used to be so grateful to his weary limbs, — ages ago, it seemed.
He only dabbled in it with his hands and feet: the sun-bur
nished wavelets seemed full of barbed arrows to his strangely
fevered flesh. When he dozed a little, the air seemed full of
bright scintillating sparks.

Andy called in Dr. Gates, who happened to be passing.

" Good-morning, Colonel ! Glad to see you," said the cheer
ful-minded physician, whose hair and beard Time had suc
ceeded in bleaching, but whose rotund form, keen eye, and
bounding heart seemed to bid him an unceasing defiance.
" Got you down at last, eh? " he continued jocularly. " I was
afraid I should never get a chance at you. That constitution
of yours is magnificent. Used to think you were made of

HOME AT LAST. 351

whip-cord. Been to Central America, eh ? Going back there?
And Miss Lily and the Madam — where are they V "

Servosse answered dully and wearily. The doctor watched
him keenly.

"Let me feel your pulse, please."

"Ah! a little feverish — considerably so. Bilious? No?
Let me see your tongue. That will do. Where's that boy ? ?'

The doctor went out upon the porch, and called, " Andy ! O
Andy! come here!" When the boy came, he asked him a
great many questions. Then he went back, and examined his
patient again very carefully. Then he recalled Andy, and
said to him, —

" Andy, you think a good deal of the Colonel, don't you? "

" I should think I did, sir ! More'n ub anybody else I ebber
seed.'"

" Enough to stand by him, even at the risk of your life? "

Andy looked around at the bright sunshine, and thought of
the wife, and three ebon-hued children who were sprawling
about the kitchen.

" Because, if you don't," said the doctor, who had watched
him keenly, " I must get some one else."

That settled it.

"Nobody else ain't gwine ter nuss de kunnel, dat's shore!"
he said with emphasis. "I'll do it."

"The Colonel is going to be mighty sick, Andy, and the
disease may be contagious, — catching, you know. I don't
think there's very much danger; but he's got to have some one
to stay right by him all the time."

" All right, Doctor, I'll do it," said the colored man promptly.

" Very well, Andy," said the Doctor. "I'll get some one to
help you: but you must always be here; you mustn't leave the
house. A heap depends on the nursing he gets, and you know
there's none of his own folks here to take care of him."

" Nebber you mind, Doctor," said Andy. " Kunnel Servosse
won't have no lack ub 'tention while dar's a colored man lives
dat ebber seed his face. I can git plenty ub 'em to help me."

" But you must not leave the house."

352 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

" Don't want to. They'll come here."

" All right. I shall be out two or three times a day till it's
over. Go and tell your wife ; bid her not to trouble you, nor
be alarmed."

"Don't you be afraid fer her, Doctor," said Andy stoutly:
" she'd go jes' as fur ez I would ter sarve de Kunnel."

The colored man did as directed, and, returning to the room
where Servosse lay, received minute directions as to his care.
While the doctor was engaged in giving these, Servosse roused
himself from the stupor into which he had fallen, and listened
to the conversation between his physician and his nurse.

"You think me pretty sick, Doctor? " he asked presently.

" Pretty sick," answered the doctor sententiously, as he went
on putting up his prescription.

" Very sick, perhaps, Doctor ? "

"Well, yes, very sick, Colonel."

" What is the matter ? "

" Well, you have some fever, you know."

"You are trying to deceive me, Doctor," said the patient.
" Don't do it. I have heard and noted enough of what you have
done and said since you have been here, to know that you con
sider the case a. very serious one. Let me know now just how
serious."

" I do not wish to alarm you needlessly, and the disease has
not yet developed so that I can speak with certainty," replied
the doctor.

" You are still evasive, Doctor," said Servosse. "Well, then,
let me tell you what I think is your opinion. You think I have
the yellow-fever."

"I can not deny, Colonel, that I have such a suspicion.
You have just come through the infected belt, and your symp
toms certainly do point that way. But then we are very often
mistaken in those things. The symptoms of yellow-fever are
not at first sufficiently distinctive to enable a physician who
has not recently met it to pronounce with certainty in regard
to it. Now, I haven't seen a case of yellow-fever in — let mo
see — twenty years and better. And, for that matter, I hoped 1

HOME AT LAST. 353

never should see another. But your case does look very like
what I remember of that. So far as concerns the technical
symptoms, those we find in the books, they are at first about the
same as other fevers of its class."

" I have no doubt your surmise is correct," answered Servosse
calmly. "I remember now that two cases of the fever, or what
was said to be the fever, were taken off the train at Meridien
when I came through."

"Well," said the physician, "the best way is to treat it for
that, anyhow. There is a fair chance, even with Yellow Jack,
when one has your courage and constitutional stamina. We'll
do the best we can, Colonel, and I trust you may pull through."

The doctor had completed his directions, and was about to
leave, when his patient said earnestly, —

" Doctor, you said just now that it was wise to treat this as
if you were sure of the worst. I think that is true for me too.
I ought to do as I would if I were sure of the worst. I have
not much to do, but I must do that now. How long before this
thing will be over — if — if you are correct ? "

" Well," said the doctor, " in that case — well, the worst ought
to be over by, say, Saturday."

"Thank you, Doctor," said the patient solemnly. "Now, if
you will wait on the porch a little while ? I am sorry to detain
you; but I must do a little writing, and wish you would stay
until it is done. Andy will wait on me," he added in reply to
a questioning look.

" Certainly, Colonel," answered the doctor ; " and you had
better make all your arrangements for — well, for a long sick
ness, anyhow."

" I understand," said the patient quietly.

Nearly an hour passed by before the doctor was called in
again.

"My head is a little confused, Doctor," said the sick man;
" and I wish you would glance over this codicil which I have
added to my will, just to see that it is properly expressed."

The doctor read it aloud.

" That will do," said Servosse : " I merely wished to leave

354 A FOOL'S ERRAND.

some directions as to my burial, and so forth. I thought of it
yesterday. I don't know why; but there came over me a sort
of impression that I should not live long, and I thought, that, if
I should die here, I would like to select my burial-place, and
prescribe the inscription on my tomb."

" But this — you are quite sure this is what you wish ? " asked
the doctor. " Your head is not " —

" Oh, yes ! my head is all right," said the sick man with an
amused smile. " You need not have any fear about that. I
have said what I mean, and mean what I say. Then there is
the little legacy to Andy and his heirs ; that is, on condition
that he nurse me through my last sickness. That is all right.
Now, Doctor, I wish you and Andy to witness this will. I had
always intended to leave it as a holograph; but it is perhaps as
well to have it attested, under the circumstances."

The will was signed and witnessed; and then Servosse handed
to the doctor a letter and a telegram, both directed to his wife.

" You will please send the telegram as soon as you return,"
he said. " Metta will start back in a day or two if you. do
not."

" You have not forbidden her coming ? " asked the doctor in
surprise.

" I tell her I shall not be ready to receive her before Satur
day or Sunday," was the reply.

"But, Colonel, there is but little danger — very little."

" And they must not incur even that," said Servosse with
decision.

" lleally, Colonel," pleaded the physician, " I can not consent
to doing' as you wish. You know well enough that both your
wife and daughter would be very willing to face any infection
to serve you."

" And for that very reason must not be allowed to come here.
Insensibility wrill come before they could arrive, and I am sure
I shall be well taken care of. You and Andy will look out for
that. I know it will seem cruel to them, but it is real mercy:
You must promise me that you will send that, and nothing
more."

HOME AT LAST. 355

"If you fully desire it, T can do nothing less," responded the
doctor with hesitation.

"Thank you, Doctor. And this letter, please keep it, until —
until you know the result, and then send or deliver it to — to
Metta." His voice choked, and he seemed about to lose his self-
control. " You will tell them, Doctor, that it was my love which
was unkind. It's hard — hard. If I could only see their faces
once more! Tell them how I loved them in this — this"-

" Oh, you must not give way ! " cried the doctor, with a pro
fessional endeavor at encouragement. " We shall have you all
right soon."

" Tell them — what I can not say, Doctor — if I should never ,
see them again."

" All right," said the doctor, wringing his hand. " I will do
all you say."

" And, Doctor," — detaining him still, — " my old friends and
— and acquaintances I would like you to say I have no ill-will.
I wTas no doubt mistaken; perhaps I was too — too intense in
my notions: but I hated no man, Doctor, and injured no man
knowingly. ]f any feel that I have wronged them — in any
manner, perhaps they will forgive me : I hope so, at least. I
wish that you would say so to — to — any who may ask for me."

" I am sure, Colonel," said the doctor with emotion, " there is
ho one who harbors any resentment towards you. You were
counted a hard hitter and a hot opponent; but no one ever
thought you held spite, or harbored malice against you person
ally."

"I hope not — I hope not," — said the Fool. "I would have
been glad to see more of those I knew; but I hope they will
think kindly of me — as kindly as I do of them. That's all I
ask."

With these words in his ears, the doctor rode back to Verden-
ton, and made report of his condition. The little town had its
share of those modern Athenians whose only business was to
hear and to tell some new thing ; so that in an hour it was re-
, ported all over its streets that the owner of Warrington h-xl
returned, and was prostrate with the dreaded disease. Little

356 A FOOL'S EUR AND.

fear was then entertained of isolated cases occurring1 in regions
not subject to the ravages of the plague, which was then
thought to be comparatively innocuous .beyond certain limits of
latitude, elevation, and temperature.

It was wonderful to note, however, how quickly the thought
of disease or death eradicated all thought of hostility from the,
minds of those who had been the most avowed enemies. That
most beautiful phase of the Southern character was never more
nobly displayed. All were ready and anxious to do something
for the relief of the lonely sufferer.

" Colonel Servosse sick ! " cried Vaughn, riding up to where
the doctor stood talking with others. " I declare, it's too bad !
Just come back from Mexico, too, or somewhere down that way.
Was out to see him yesterday. Hasn't seen his wife and
daughter in six months, and now has got the fever! Too bad,
I swear ! Look here, men, we must go out and see him, and
take care of him ! Just think of it ! .He's there sick, and all
alone 'cept for the niggers! He was a good fellow, Servosse
was, after all, a good fellow ! I don't believe he ever had any
spite. He was full of notions and ideas, and was always
making everybody a present of them, whether they agreed with
him or not. Some of 'em wa'n't so bad notions, either, come
to look back at 'em ! We must organize a committee and take
care of him, gentlemen. 'Twon't do to leave him in that con
dition — not a minute. I'm going right out as soon as I can
get a buggy now. Who'll go along with me, and take the
first watch ? "

"I will," said a voice behind him.

Vaughn turned, and exclaimed in surprise, —

"What, is it you, General Gurney ? Well, I declare, you
surprised me ! I'm sure I shall be honored with your company.
I'm glad you're going too. 'Twill do Servosse good. — Don't
you think it will, Doctor? "

In reply, the doctor told what Servosse had said about his
old acquaintances, and how he would not let him send for
his wife and daughter, though he had assured him that the.
danger would not be great.

HOME AT LAST. 357

" So he was going to tough it out alone, was he V " said
Vaughn. "He can't do that around Verdenton, if he is a
carpet-bagger. Confound him! if he hadn't been so radical,
he would have known that. — Here, you boy!" calling to a
colored man who was listening to the conversation with great
interest, — " take my horse home, and put him on the buggy,
so that General Gurney and I can go out and see after Colonel
Servosse. D'ye know he'd got the yellow-fever ? Hurry up,
you rascal, or the damned Radical will die before we get there.
We oughtn't to go near him at all, just to pay him for taking
up with you niggers; but we ain't that kind of folks. We'll
see him through it, or give him a fair send off, if he did try to
put you all over the white folks' heads."

As usual, Vaughn but echoed the general voice, — in a rough,
loud manner, it is true, but with a sincerity of kindness to
those suffering affliction which is a most noticeable character
istic of the Southern people. Scarcely one of those who had
so bitterly denounced and recklessly defamed the Fool in
former days, perhaps not one of those who had voted to
take his life by unlawful and barbarous violence, would have
hesitated to watch over him with the tenderest care in sick
ness, to have shown every favor to his family in consequent
bereavement, or to have attended his interment with decorous
and sympathizing solemnity and punctiliousness. No words
can overdraw the beautiful kindness and tenderness of the
Southern people in this respect.

While they waited, General Gurney, who seemed to be
affected by some unusual emotion, after some further con
versation with the physician, said, half to himself as he stepped
into the telegraph-office, —

" I will do it. It may be too late but I will do it."

Then he wrote a telegram which read thus : —

"MELVILLE GURNEY, — Bring Mrs. Servosse and Lily with
out delay. Tell Lily it is my request.

" MARION GURNEY."

When they arrived at Warrington, they found the ever

358 A FOOUS ERRAND.

ready Bnrleson already installed at the bedside ; but it was
already too late for the Fool to realize and appreciate the 'kind
ness that flowed in upon him from all sides. The neighbors
who came and went received from him but dull, vacant glances,
and heard only the rambling, half-incoherent words of love
and longing which his fevered lips uttered to the dear ones
whom he imagined at his bedside. The flowers which fail
hands culled and arranged to charm his eye, the delicacies
which were sent in lavish abundance to coax his palate, wera
unheeded by the sufferer, who was alone with' his pain and
his doom. The faithful Andy was the only one he recognized ;
for only that was true to him which had been before the full
light of reason was obscured by the clouds of disease. Ones
or twice, it was true, General Gurney, who was unremitting
in his attention, heard his name muttered, and thought him
self recognized; but, instead, he always found, when he listened
more closely, that the wandering intellect was running upon
Lily and his son.

On Wednesday appeared the Verdenton Gazette, and in it
was the following : —

"We are pained to announce that Colonel Servosse, who
returned to his home on Saturday last for a brief sojourn, is
prostrated with the fever which is now making fearful ravages
in the adjoining States. Notwithstanding the infectious char
acter of the disease, scores of our best citizens have volun
teered to attend upon him; and hundreds have called, and
otherwise testified their sympathy and kindness. His family
have been telegraphed for, but little hope is entertained of
their arrival before his death. He has been delirious almost
from the first, and his physicians consider it barely possible
that he should recover.

" Colonel Servosse removed to this county from the State of
Michigan immediately after the war, and has resided here con
stantly until about a year since. He was an active and able
political leader, and was instrumental in molding and shap
ing legislation under the Reconstruction measures to a very
great extent. Naturally, he was the mark for very bitter

HOME AT LAST. 359

political attack, and was for a time, no doubt, greatly mis
represented. That he was a man of marked ability is now
universally admitted, and it is generally conceded that he was
thoroughly honest in the views which he entertained. Person
ally, he was a man of fine qualities, who made many and fast
friends. He is not thought to have been capable of deliberate
and persistent malice; but his audacious and unsparing ridi
cule of the men and measures he opposed prevented many of
his opponents from appreciating the other valuable and attrac
tive elements of his character. Whatever may have been their
past relations, however, our citizens will be sincerely sorry to
learn of his death."

The wife and daughter read this, copied into a Northern
journal, as they hurried southward, the day after its pub
lication.

On the evening of that day a vast concourse gathered be
neath the oaks of Warrington to do the last honors to its
master. There were grave, solemn-faced men who had been
his friends, and others who had been enemies, who stood
side by side around the open grave under the noblest of the
trees which he had loved. Beyond these there was a dark,
sobbing circle, — men, women, and children, — who wept and
groaned as the clods fell upon the coffin* of one whom they had
so long trusted and revered.

Yet bitterer tears fell on the fresh, red mound upon the
morrow; and then the sun shone, the birds sang, the bright
creek babbled by, and the dead slept in peace. Time smiled
grimly as he traced anew the unsolved problem which had
mocked the Fool's heart.

360 A FOODS ERRAND.

CHAPTER XLVIL

MONUMENTUM.

r~~*

I GRASS had grown above the grave. A covered wagon
stopped before the grounds, and a jean-clad countryman, de
scending therefrom, led a little boy seriously and reverently
to the railed inclosure.

"There, son," said David Nelson, as he pointed through the
railing at the tombstone, " is where they laid away our Car-
pet-Bagger. You remember him, I reckon : he staid at our house
one night, two or three years ago, — Colonel Servosse. He
was too earnest a man to have much comfort here, though.
I want you should remember his grave ; for he was a powerful
good friend to your father, and the common people like him.
He come from the North right after the war, an' went in with
us Union men and the niggers to try and make this a free
country accordin' to Northern notions. It was a grand idee ;
but there wa'n't material enough to build of, on hand here at
that time. There was a good foundation laid, and some time
it may be finished off; but not in my day, son, — not in my
day. Colonel Servosse always felt as if somebody had made
a mess of it, and said the fault wasn't half of it with them
it was laid on, here at the South, but was mainly with the
master workmen at the North, who would insist on the tale of
bricks without furnishin' any straw. The failure of what we
called Reconstruction hurt him mighty bad, an', to my mind,
bed more ter du with takin' him off than the fever. That's
why he hed that line put on his tombstone. What is it V Let
me git out my glasses, child, and I'll read it for ye : —

' He followed the counsel of the Wise,
And became a Fool thereby.'

What does it mean? I'm not jest sure that I rightly know,

MONUMENTUM.

361

Bon ; but it was one of his notions that he'd been fooled, along
with the rest of us, by tryin' to work up to the marks of men
that only half-knew what sort of -a job they were layin' out.
He was a good man, according to my notion, and an earnest
one; but — somehow it seemed as if his ideas wa'n't calkilated
for this meridian. It mout hev been better for us, in the end,
if they hed been."

14 DAY USE

RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED

LOAN DEPT.

This book is due on the last date stamped below, or

on the date to which renewed.
Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.

REC. CIR.

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IB 2 5 1977 3

REC

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UOAN DEPT,

' * • •> o

'EB 1 9 1971 2 2

/MAR

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(G4427slO)476B

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